


Satisfied, Never Satisfied

by Tempestquill



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe- Historical, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 61,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempestquill/pseuds/Tempestquill
Summary: John Laurens finds himself immediately captivated by Alexander Hamilton, however as they work to build a nation, the nature of such a relationship would destroy them both. Angelica Schuyler, just as enamored with Hamilton upon first meeting him, finds herself carrying similar feelings, and finding comfort in John Laurens. LAMS, Laurens/Angelica, HamLiza Historical AU
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, John Laurens/Angelica Schuyler
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Fated, Curse Fate

I’m laughing, downing my second beer with the friends I’ve gained in the past fortnight. Seems like running up to the North, like the slaves I hope to liberate from my father as much as I long to liberate our country from the British, has finally given me the opportunity to meet true bothers.

Ah, brothers, my brothers and sisters I’ve left behind… maybe he won’t be as cruel to them as the ire he shows me, Martha will manage the household and Henry will be his pride, Jem his favorite, and Polly his sweetheart. I wonder whether or not he has yet to disown me, take the liability of his legacy and inheritance from me? Let him rescind it, one less burden, the cost of my personal liberty has already been paid by the highest of costs, the sacrifice of… no, not tonight. I am young, free, full of ambition for life and liberty, and I am among my new family, already so accepting.

I’m broken from internal reveries by a nudge from Hercules Mulligan as our French companion’s attention is taken by the commotion of that pompous ass Burr’s entrance, and then my attention is captured by the disheveled man behind him, young, like me, new to manhood, and that man with his tanned skinned and wild, dark hair pulled back, but still falling in his face is vibrating with an almost unnatural energy, even with the disappointment growing in his face as his gaze on Burr continues to falter. I feel the urge to see a smile on that concentrated and disappointed face, and by God will I see it.

“Show time! Show time! Yo! I’m John Laurens in the place to be! Two pints o’ Sam Adams, but I’m workin’ on three, uh! Those redcoats down want it with me! Cuz I will pop chick-a pop these cops till I’m free!”

From there our illustrious Gilbert du Mortier, Marquis de Lafayette, who constantly exasperated by his name, prefers just Lafayette, takes up my beat, and I see a spark ignite in the man’s face, a spark that makes me shudder, a heat building in my belly and rising to my cheeks. Thank God for the beer, my cheeks are expected to be rosy from all of the liquid courage, no one need know the actual cause of the effect. When Mulligan starts in on his corset bragging, I intervene before the wrong impression is sent to the handsome stranger…handsome… hmm, my past afflictions are seemingly not so far in the past after all.

Well, let me see to the introduction of this handsome stranger, and I notice the look of hope and curiosity on his face. Seems Burr has proven himself a bore to this man as well.

“Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college!” I call out, drawing the newcomer’s attention, and the intensity of his focused gaze makes me choke on my next words, but Mulligan interjects, my saving grace.

“Aaron Burr!”

I continue, “Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!”

I ignore his pretentious reply, and at the sound of Lafayette’s and Mulligan’s displeasure, I smirk and say, “Burr, the revolution’s imminent. What do you stall for?”

This is when I hear for the first time the stranger’s voice, and it does not disappoint, the cadence is searing and full of strength as he echoes my sentiment, “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”

The heat coils in my belly at the challenge in his voice, and I silently beg any god or devil that evidence of his power over me does not arise, as I inquire for an introduction, my companions echoing with curiosity and a great deal of interest at this defiant almost man, as we all call him kid and wonder what he’s going to do next.

Within an hour my small family has grown from trio to quartette, and Alexander Hamilton, the stranger with uncontainable energy and ambition is our newest addition.

It is late when finally, the bartender has had enough of us. Admittedly my companions are worse off than I, after my fourth beer I decided this would be a night I would want to recall. Seeing Lafayette and Mulligan off in a carriage with proper instruction to take them to the Frenchman’s home and see them inside, I am left standing in the street with Alexander Hamilton. He’s swaying from the influence of drink, and I decide to be bold and clasp a friendly arm across his shoulder, doggedly ignoring the heat coiling defiantly in my belly at our closeness. I can be a friend; anything further would be a risk of losing him before I gain a chance to really know him.

I’ve had women, I’ve known the forbidden companionship of a man, having that notion nearly beaten out of me, and yet this attraction is something unknown to me. He is attractive, but it is his energy, his fire, that has me intrigued, he brims with it, almost seems to vibrate within him, and I know he is destined for glory and greatness and I want to be a part, however small a part, of that.

“So, uh…” he begins, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, and I’m surprised by this show of vulnerability in the wake of the confidence he had in challenging Burr and carousing with us earlier.

“Come on, Hamilton, my place is nearby and I’m too tired to see you home safely to where ever it is you’re staying. I’ve room enough for the both of us in my place,” I say, and jerk my head in the direction of the home I acquired through a good gamble and wager against a British officer.

We reach my small home after a brisk walk through the New York chill, weather that I am still not used to given my Southern heritage. I make quick work of the lock and getting inside. Judging by his hunched shoulders and shivering, we have an upbringing in warmer climes in common.

I head to the fireplace, stoke the dying embers and add some wood to warm the house, and then look to him nodding toward the sofa in the room. He nods firmly, as if making a decision after a silent debate with himself, and moves awkwardly toward the sofa. Rather than take a gamble on the coiling heat in my belly, I take a seat in the lone chair in the room, draw it close to the sofa, and sigh. He looks up at the noise.

“You’re so quiet now, Hamilton, so different from the tavern,” I observe.

He looks up with a start, almost as though expecting a challenge from me, I sit back at the intensity of his gaze, which cools slowly and then he replies, his tone less sure, and says, “That was with an audience, and however trivial, a cause to raise, a challenge to Burr’s apathy.”

“That disappoints you, doesn’t it? You’re so intelligent, and based on what I see before me, you’ve had to work for every bit of your education, you value it, you cling to it, you know it will provide for you. You’ve fought for every provision you’ve ever gotten. I’ve never seen that look of ambition and passion in a wealthy man’s gaze or disposition,” I say and look toward the rising flames in the fireplace to break away from the sudden intensity I feel, knowing he is looking at me, trying to break me apart and determine whether or not I’m worthy, whether or not I can be enough to forge a bond with.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, a crack in his tone that makes me look up and see a swell of sadness and shame overwhelm him, and my breath stalls, before I give a cough and lean forward as he seems to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped.

“Wealthy or poor, we all have battles that we face. I know you are like me, not from here, and maybe like me you are running from that history that has made you who you are. You are more than your past, so why let it define you? And listen to me, telling more to you than I have to Lafayette and Mulligan, who I’ve known longer,” I let out a low, deprecating chuckle, which captures his attention, and the intensity makes my breath catch again.

“I don’t know very many people here, I’m new here, and it looks like you have a lot you’ve wanted to say, and fear of the people you admire holds your tongue,” Alexander says lowly.

I let out a deep breath and sit back, my left hand rubbing my temple and I can hear something in his tone, and as I shift my gaze, I see an earnestness that promises no judgment. He wants friends, probably has not had many, and I think how much we have in common, how desperately we seek companionship. I swallow hard, never one to back away from a challenge, and this boy, barely a man, so close to my age, is a challenge.

We have more in common than you would suspect, Alexander Hamilton. You’re on your own, probably have been from a young age. I’m sorry for those circumstances if my suspicions are correct. I lost my mother some years ago, and I never have been a source of pride for my father, a wealthy plantation owner back home in Charleston. The others don’t know this about me, but I see enough of my own pain in you, maybe it’s the alcohol…”

“No… no…” he softly reassures me and then he leans forward and says, “my father abandoned us, he and my mother were never married, and this made life difficult as you can imagine, and then the sickness came, both of us fevered, I recovered, she died in my arms, and I promised her, I promised myself, that I would better my circumstances in her honor. Can I trust you with this? Can I trust you to be my first real friend?”

The last of his words escape, a hopeful plea, and I run my tongue across my lips, take in a deep breath and reach out to grasp his knee and give it a squeeze, “It would be my honor to call you friend, Alexander Hamilton. The others need only know what you tell them. Anything you say to me will remain between us if I can hold you to the same bond?”

He nods, his head bowed, and I reach up and lift his chin, so he can see the matching tears in my eyes. How can I feel the closest I’ve ever felt to someone in the span of a night? This energy Alexander Hamilton possesses promises to be the damnation of my soul, but he is a devil I will not fight. I already know that his power over me is absolute. This seems fated, like the bedside stories my mother told when I was just a little boy, destiny, he manifests my destiny, and already, with just his gaze I am resigned, fate, curse it, and embrace it.


	2. Imminent

I stretch and sigh, the shadows in my mind taking respite as I begin waking up. I scratch my belly and sit up, bracing myself for the day. The benefits of limiting drinking makes for a more agreeable morning, and since first meeting Alexander all of those weeks ago I have made sure to drink considerably less around him and among our friends. I must keep my wits about me when around him, his mind a force of nature, not unlike a hurricane. He is also constantly in motion, constantly in my orbit, and always so close, brushing against me, throwing a companionable arm across my shoulders, and to fight back my urges I must abstain from alcohol and maintain my wit.

I look around the room, use and then empty the chamber pot through the window, dress quickly, and run through a quick shave before stepping into the main room. I notice the glowing embers of the fire, and brace myself for the sight of a disheveled Alexander Hamilton on my sofa, a quilt wrapped tightly around his curled-up form. This has become a common sight since the night of our meeting, so common in fact that I know how much of a devil he is to wake up. 

A whimper shakes me from my thoughts, and my brows furrow because this is new, as he shifts and curls even tighter into himself, his breath harsh pants, and I notice a sheen of sweat on his brow. This is far from what I’ve grown accustomed to. 

I kneel next to the sofa, gently shaking his shoulder and softly calling his name, “Alexander, Alex… hey, come on, wake up. You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

He continues to whimper, and then he bolts up, the suddenness of his movements causing him to fall from the couch and land on me. I swallow thickly as he works on collecting himself, a bright flush of color rising up his neck and to his cheeks once the realization of our position strikes him. He begins to shift, but I cannot let this moment pass as I wrap my arms around him and shush him, drawing him to lean into my shoulder because I have noticed the tears trailing his eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation he takes what I offer, clinging to me as a sob betrays him and breaks loose from his throat, the evidence of a long-withheld lamentation of so much loss in too young of a life. 

“You needn’t tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I am here just the same,” I say in an attempt to soothe him as he clings to me, struggling to catch his breath. 

He manages after several minutes to compose himself, though still he clings to me, and I, in my shame, continue to hold him, pleased that I can offer him this comfort while enjoying our closeness. 

“Laurens… John, I…” he begins, and then his brow furrows and he bites at his bottom lip. 

My breath catches for a moment but I am quick to recover, “You owe no explanation. We all have nightmares, bad memories, demons we fight every day. There is no shame in this, and if you do not wish to share it with me, that is okay, just let me do what I can to make it better.” 

He looks up, his expression one of confliction, and burst out, “Why? Why are you so good to me? You barely know me, and you owe me no attachment! I’m no good and I never have been. I’m just a lone bastard, an immigrant orphan. Anyone I’ve ever had an attachment to has left me or worse died for or because of me. Why are you so willing to gamble your own life away for me?”

I pull back a little and meet his concentrated stare with confusion. “Barely know you? In these past weeks look at how close we’ve become. I don’t need to know all of your past to know you Alexander, you’re determined, ambitious, a patriot to our cause, someone who has known far too much sorrow for your age. I care for you, consider you friend… You don’t owe me all of your past to have my friendship. You’ve told me about your father, your mother, and your cousin, that is enough for a lifetime of nightmares, but you still fight, and I admire your ferocity. I know how bad a past can be.”

“Do you?” he challenges, and then falters, looking down in shame, trying to pull back from our impromptu and lingering embrace, an embrace I am not yet ready to give up. 

I tighten my arms around him, and he looks up as my chest presses against him, my lungs swelling with a deep breath as I make my decision. “I am not going to give you my past because I feel I owe it to you. I just think, that perhaps I should share it with you before I make a proposal…”

He cuts me off in confusion, his brow furrowed in a way that pulls my lip into an admiring grin. “A proposal?”

“I’ll get to that when I tell you what needs to be said,” I reply. I hesitate before I continue, “You know I’m from Charleston, and my father owns a plantation. You know my mother died, you know I helped with my brothers and sisters for as long as I could before I left to come here for the Revolution. What you don’t know is why I really left…”

“You’re an abolitionist, and I imagine your father is not, given how he continues to keep slaves,” Alexander interrupts. 

I roll my eyes, not surprised anymore by his interjections that he simply cannot contain. “That is a part of it, but not all of it.” 

Again, he graces me with a look of confusion and growing curiosity, his damned teeth working his bottom lip, as his mind runs through a multitude of possibilities for what I have to say. I’m tempted, and I am and have always been a man of impulse. He is too close, I cling to him too tightly, his look carries an amount of concern for me I have not known since my mother fretted for me. I know I am a condemned man as I lean forward just enough and catch his mouth with my own, plush lips to worried chapped ones. I see his eyes widen in shock before I close my eyes and savor what I can get before this ends in the violence I have come to expect from the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feed Provenance's ego, reviews fuel the muse!


	3. In the Silence

I pull back slowly, pulling back my arms to place them behind me and I lean back, taking in a deep breath, unwilling to open my eyes as I brace for the disgust that I know will probably rise within him, that barbed tongue of his will tear me asunder any moment in the wake of a well-deserved fist. 

And yet, after waiting for what must be several moments, but feels so much longer, I finally open my eyes because the silence that crowds the room is far more than I can take. 

He has not moved from his awkward position still in my lap. I raise my eyes to his face and he appears stunned, dazed, his right fore and middle fingers tracing his chapped lips. Other than the movement of his fingers across his mouth, this is the stillest and quietest I’ve seen him, even in his sleep the man is restless and talking. 

With a flick of his gaze our eyes meet, and I see something fiery in the dark and intelligent gaze, something he is working through, carefully piecing together before he opens his mouth, and I am wondering what about our present situation would need so much thought and consideration. Anyone else would have hit me by now, cursed my name, dragged me to the streets, and exposed me, and yet the cogs of his mind are turning, working toward a decision that determines my fate. This is far more frightening than the violence I anticipated. 

Finally, he breaks from his mind’s reverie and reaches towards me, pushes the curls from my face, and then traces my jawline with the calloused fingers of a hand well-worn with labor and writing. I try to pull back, but then he moves his other hand and holds my face steady as he cocks his head to the side analyzing every inch of my visage and I am afraid of what he is looking for, of what he may already see. For all my bravado and bravery in a fight, I am a coward, my greatest fear being discovered for the wretch I am.

“Who was he?” he asks, and I’m startled by the lack of judgment in his tone and expression. 

I do I owe him, after kissing him, I owe him this at the very least. “Samuel,” I manage, barely more than a whisper, and I shift my gaze downward. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he says, tone kind and gentle. 

My eyes rise up to meet his and I run my tongue across my lips. “I know, but I don’t understand why.” 

“You’re my friend, need there be any other reason?” he asks, and I am stunned by his earnestness. 

“You don’t owe that, Alexander,” I reply. 

He snorts. “If I lose you, I’m down to two friends. I don’t want to lose you though. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I take a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to lose you either.” 

He nods and gets to his feet, offers me a hand up, and settles us onto the sofa. Both of us dressed, but his clothes wrinkled from having slept in them. I look down at my hands, fidgeting in nervousness, awaiting his assessment over this course of events and knowledge of my capability for indecency. 

“Could you tell me more? If you wanted, I mean…” he asks. “I just want to understand, and you haven’t told me your proposal yet either.”

I wonder if this is how I lose him as I begin to speak if this will be our last conversation. “Samuel was our stable hand, and he took care of our horses, he was especially fond of my stallion, Prospero…”

“Shakespeare,” Alexander notes, and I chuckle at the normalcy he is still capable of as I continue. 

“I rode a lot after my mother died. It kept me out of the house, kept me away from my father. I was his bitterest disappointment, and it grew worse when my mother died. She killed herself, and the letter she left behind was addressed to me. His ire for me grew worse.

“At any rate, I got tired of riding alone, so, having no one else, I worked up the courage to ask Samuel to join me. He rode one of the mares used for the carriages. Our daily rides grew longer and longer, as a result, some of his duties began to go neglected, and I took to helping him whenever I could. 

“We got caught in a storm, and we sought shelter where we could, chanced upon a small shack in the woods, long abandoned. It was a summer rain, so not cold. Still, we were wet and shed our clothes to avoid the chance of illness. The storm lasted a long time, and I started to ask him questions about his life, how he was treated, what, if anything, did he want. I told him that I didn’t agree with my father’s position, and given how close we became I would do anything I could to help him find his freedom. He was overcome, and I embraced him, and then he said I must be like the savior promised in the sermons, and he kissed me.”

I pause and focus on Alexander and I am stunned by his rapt attention on me, and he nods, eager for the rest of it, knowing this is not yet the conclusion. 

“Up to this point, I had only ever allowed myself interest in girls and women. I had urges for men at times, but I’d never given in before. I’d only ever lain with a woman, by that point I’d had three women I’d bedded. That kiss with Samuel rivaled those experiences. I kissed him back. It went no further than the embrace and kissing, but I wanted more. I feared what would happen to me, to him. When the storm was over, we dressed, rode back, and my father was waiting in the stable. He had Samuel taken away. He expressed his displeasure, and we took our discussion to his study. He accused me of carnal pleasure, of fucking the slave, and he beat me relentlessly, so much so that my sister Martha sent for a doctor when it was over and he’d left. My father had Samuel whipped, and sold him within a matter of days, to where I do not know. It took me two weeks to be fit enough to leave, and once I was well enough, I said my goodbyes to Martha, Henry, Jem, and Polly, packed up whatever I could in my saddlebags, and found my way here to New York. Since I’ve been here, I have not known the affections of anyone, have not fallen deeply for anyone, and then you walked into the tavern that night.”

I pause at the appearance of the blush that burns across his cheeks, and manage a grin at his expense, momentarily reaching toward him but I’m not brave enough to try to touch him again. 

“Hamilton, Alex, I don’t think you realize how attractive you are, how magnetic, passionate, a force to be reckoned with, not unlike a hurricane,” I see a sadness flicker in his eyes for a moment. “There will be many people attracted to you, longing for you, envious of you. I just want to be someone who can love you. I can accept my role as your best friend, and I will never ask for more than that, because in our world, the America we are building is not ready for that, and you have so much you need to get done in building this country. I can be your best friend, support you, anything to remain close to you. The one thing I cannot do, the one thing that I could never forgive myself for, is if I am the reason you give it all up. You need to rise up Alexander Hamilton, you are going to be one of the men who builds our country. I’ll be a footnote in history, I’ll die for you if the occasion ever arises, but I will not be the reason you throw away your shot.” 

The sadness grows in his dark eyes, battling with that ambition I admire so much, and he breathes heavily for a moment, shifts towards me, our foreheads touching, noses almost brushing, and he says, “I didn’t think anyone could ever out talk me or make me speechless. What we have is the closest I’ve ever been to someone, and I don’t want to lose that. I want you to love me, as selfish as that sounds, and I can, I think I do love you too. I hate that you’re right about this, that we can only ever be this close when we could be more. You know me well enough to know that I have to do more, I have to earn my place in this world, and you’re willing to sacrifice more than I could ever ask you to, just for me to get there. I don’t deserve you, John Laurens.” 

“You have me, regardless,” I reply, and before I can say anything more, he tilts his face and our lips meet again. I can taste his tears and longing that mirrors my own. 

When we part, he lets out a self-deprecating snort of laughter, and we smile for our losses instead of grieve and he asks, “Now what about your proposal?”

I snort a laugh and reply, “Well, rather than paying to quarter at the boarding house, why not save your money and move in with me. You can stay on the sofa, or we can alternate nights where I get the sofa on occasion. There is no need for you to pay for a place where you barely ever stay anymore. You don’t have to worry about me making any advances. I can restrain myself. It’s enough to be close to you. Save your money for when you meet a woman worthy of your courting. She will be lucky; you kiss like a fiend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feed Provenance's ego, reviews fuel the muse!


	4. American Will Sing for You

Having a roommate in Alexander is refreshing, very little has changed in our routine other than long philosophical conversations, mostly initiated by him, talk of fighting for independence, building a nation, securing a treasury, that he speaks about the most and his ideas for a financial institution are singularly inspiring. He will be a man of reckoning in the founding of our nation, of this I have no doubt. 

We are walking through the square, catching up to Mulligan and Lafayette to join a gathering there. 

“What nonsense gathers the attention of so many?” Lafayette asks with a roll of his eyes, and then a man climbs the platform, opens his mouth, and I know everything is about to change. 

“Hear ye, hear ye! My name is Samuel Seabury…”

Mulligan looks expectantly at Alexander and says, “Oh my God, tear this dude apart.” 

I shake my head, already knowing that Alexander has accepted the challenge as he heads towards the platform, foot on the first step as Burr calls out from the crowd, “Let him be.”

“Yo! He’d have you all unravel at the sound of screams…” Alexander begins and the crowd’s attention shifts away from Samuel Seabury as Alexander continues, preening for his audience, as he begins to eviscerate the unwitting Seabury. 

Knowing his capability for verbal carnage, I turn my focus on the crowd. My eyes widen at the sight of the three young women joining the crowd, eyes locked on my Alexander, one with dark skin wearing a coral-colored silk dress, one pale and in the color of the sea, and the third, most likely the youngest adorned in yellow. Based on the finery of their dresses they are elite, and from a wealthy background, these women would be debutantes on display back in Charleston. However, did they manage to wander out and join this crowd? 

In my concentration on these three women, Burr has managed to sneak up on me, no easy feat for him given how my utter disdain for him usually alerts me to his presence. He sees the direction of my attention and says, “Yes, the Schuyler sisters, Angelica, Elizabeth, and Marguerita, the youngest who goes by Peggy. I’ve already introduced myself. Angelica, the eldest, is quite eye-catching, a real challenge, opinionated and fiery, not unlike Hamilton, up there making a damned fool of himself.”

“Pardon,” I cut in, and Burr smirks.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve noticed how close you and Hamilton have grown since meeting. How unusual, considering I have heard that you are from a wealthy background. Tell me, how does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore immigrant gain so much attention and admiration?”

My response to his question is my fist to his face. Lafayette and Mulligan gather around me and pull me away from any further attempt to put Burr in his place, and by then Alexander is done speaking and rushes to join us, a question evident based on the furrowing of his brow. 

“Mon ami,” Lafeyette begins to scold and shakes his head, as he leads the way to our usual tavern. 

Mulligan is grinning, impressed, and says, “Damn, you put Burr on his ass with one punch!”

Alexander raises his right brow in suspicion and asks, “So, what exactly was that about?” 

I lowly grumble a response, which has them all leaning in to hear, and then I sigh and repeat myself a little louder. “He is a snide ass and said things he had no right to say about you,” I say, looking directly at Alexander.

“Defending the honor of our dear Alexander,” Lafayette damn near coos in his French accent and I flush, and drop my gaze to the table we’ve managed to commandeer. 

“What exactly did he say?” Alexander inquires.

I shake my head, reluctant to respond.

“Nah, man, you’ve got to tell us what made you knock Burr on his ass. You’re hotheaded, but usually, I’m the one busting heads, not you,” Mulligan says, and I know I have all three sets of eyes on me.

I sigh, signal the bartender for my usual. Once we have drinks and I take the first sip of Sam Adams I sigh again and say, “He called Hamilton a bastard, orphan, son of a whore, immigrant, and I hit him. He has obviously forgotten Alex is a dear friend to me, and he has forgotten my position as a supporter of immigration and abolition.”

Lafayette and Mulligan cheer at my besting Burr, Alexander is quiet, contemplative, and Lafayette and Mulligan quickly work toward building his confidence up, dismissing what Burr said, and reminding Alexander of his greatness and place within our brotherhood of revolutionaries. Alexander gives his head a shake, and to anyone else seems to have recovered his confidence, I however know that this will lead to a conversation we will have later at home. 

As I try to put the idea of an impending conversation to the back of my mind, my thoughts drift to the presence of the Schuyler sisters in the square earlier. Fine women indeed, and if they had the ability to piss off Burr, certainly worthy of interest. The elder sister, if Burr were to be trusted on his word, is witty and thoughtful, probably a good match for Alexander, the second sister seemed calm and gentle, the third sister, still too young for courtship. Maybe Alexander and I could court the elder two if the opportunity ever presented. 

I’m shaken from my thoughts as Lafayette begins to sing about revolution, and Mulligan joins in. Soon another round of drinks is ordered and we find ourselves talking of the revolution, and then Mulligan brings up the presence of the Schuyler sisters. 

“Who?” Alexander asks, and I realize that during his impromptu speech he had neglected to notice their admiration in the crowd. 

“Ahh, yes, so they were there. How could you miss the stunning beauty of such lovely tres belle mademoiselles?” Lafayette asks, his eyes wide with surprise. 

“Well…” Alexander begins with a blush and I snort in amusement, which results in a glare from him. “I was talking…”

“Enough said,” Mulligan says with a pointed roll of his eyes that has Alexander protesting in annoyance and Lafayette and I exchanging smirks. 

“I was talking about the Revolution! My priorities for our nation are intact, unlike some who like to discuss how many corsets he’s undone,” Alexander snaps, raising his brows in a challenge at Mulligan, who ducks down into his beer while Lafayette and I get a good laugh at his expense. 

I clap my arm across Alexander’s shoulder and say, “Your priorities are most appropriately aligned. America will one day sing all of your praises and glory, but since you’ve mentioned corsets, we really do need to work on finding you a lady, versus the many women you’ve been rumored to prowl lately.” 

“So, the rumor, Madame Washington named le chat for you?” Lafeyette asks with a grin and inquiring gaze. 

“That’s true,” Alexander responds with a bright flush and takes several gulps from his beer, before shifting his gaze to mine in apology. I shake my head dismissively with a smile of reassurance. He may have been bedding quite a few women lately, but every night he always found his way home to my sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feed the muse's ego! Reviews encourage the writing!


	5. Grand Theft

The British presence has increased, and tensions are rising. Alexander’s restlessness grows, as have my fears given that his restlessness leads to recklessness. Before meeting him I had made my peace with the idea of dying in a blaze of glory on the battlefield, dying like a man, but now I have a reason to live, that reason, keeping him alive, and given his schemes and Lafayette’s and Mulligan’s willingness to go along with them, I have had my work cut out for me. 

We have completed many an independent mission, our small militia, but conflict is increasing, and now Hamilton, what I call him in my many hours of frustration, suggests stealing the British cannons. He continues to talk about dying on the battlefield, determined to elevate his status through military recognition. I would rather he slow down, but that is not my Alexander, so I have taken it upon myself to do all I can in my power to keep his ass alive. 

Which is why I find myself rolling my eyes and encouraging the horses attached to the wagon to go faster as they bear the weight of several cannons hidden under the canvas behind us. Alexander is smug, and once we have broken through the forest and found our way into a revolutionary camp, Lafayette and Mulligan not far behind, with their own wagon, Alex lets out a laugh of mirth at the success of stealing the cannons. 

His mirth dims for a moment as he notices my exasperation. 

He shrugs and says, “Our tent?”

It still amazes me our closeness and how easily he can read my frustration. Once in our tent, I can’t hold back, “That was a damned fool thing, even for you!”

He’s surprised by my ire, and apparently the southern that has crept into my voice, which only happens when I am at my angriest. 

“We got the job done. This is a victory for the Revolution. We can turn their weapons against them, and now WE have cannons too!” he protests.

My eyes narrow as I hiss, “At the risk of your life? Do you know how many times I had to cause a distraction, take a shot once we had those damn cannons loaded? The fact that you even called after them, encouraging them to come after us!”

“The horses were taken care of, cut loose, they had no way of catching up to us,” he tries to reason with a shrug, and I recall the bullets that flew at us, and I cannot contain my rage, my hurt, my fear. 

I grab his coat and jerk him toward me until our lips are forced together, kissing him with everything I have to reassure myself that he is alive. His hands go to my hair, freeing it to fall, and then he pulls my head back with a firm tug, a hiss escaping me as his mouth and teeth trail down my exposed neck and I am tempted to tell him that he doesn’t need to mark me, because his power, ownership of me, is irrefutable. 

That is how Lafayette discovers us, and that gasp leaves us frozen for a moment until finally, Alexander pulls back and we work to collect ourselves and Lafayette looks between the two of us and says, “Mes garçons, je pense que nous devons parler, oui?” 

Alexander winces and says, “Yes, I suppose you are owed an explanation.” 

“Oui.”

I begin to tremble, recalling what happened with Samuel, the judgment, loss of everything, the beating, Samuel’s whipping, and being sold before I could attempt to free him. Alexander places his hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze and I can feel his unnerving energy and I look up, surprised to see the concern, and perhaps empathy in Lafayette’s gaze.

“We are friends,” Alexander says firmly.

“Friends typically do not interact in such a manner,” Lafayette says, surprisingly cautious and gentle. 

“I kissed him first,” I offer by way of confession, and Lafayette nods. 

“I had sensed your attachment to our young Hamilton, John. I felt it not my place to question, given your reluctance to discuss your past and your emotions and romances. This does not interfere with me calling either of you my friend. I just am surprised to see that attachment to such fruition,” Lafayette replies. 

“He loved me first,” Alexander says thoughtfully. “Beyond the kisses, and what you have seen tonight, nothing further has happened. We talk, converse a lot, enjoy each other’s company. There is no one I trust more with my life. We have had the discussion about what we mean to and for each other. We know how far we should go, and we have intentions to conform to the nation that we are building. When the time presents itself, we will indulge in marriage to fine woman, and remain lifelong friends.”

Lafayette sighs, his sympathy for us evident in his eyes and nods, “Un tel amour avant je ne l'ai pas vu. Je suis désolé qu'il doive être caché et sans contrepartie alors qu'il est si clairement réciproque.”

I look to Alexander for a translation, he smiles sadly to me and says, “he said, ‘Such a love I have not seen before. I am sorry it must be hidden and unrequited when so clearly reciprocated.’”

“We’ve already discussed and accepted our circumstances Lafayette.”

The Frenchman nods and then says, “You needn’t worry, your secret is safe with me, mon frères.”

With that, he leaves the tent, maybe in search of Mulligan, or to report what we’ve done in stealing the cannons. I fall back on one of the two cots in the tent, head in my hands, and trying to breathe as evenly as possible, still shaken from Lafayette’s discovery.

Alexander kneels before me, his hand comforting on my left knee and I look up to meet his dark, intense gaze. 

“It’s okay, we are okay. We can trust Lafayette. We just have to be careful in the future, remember ourselves. I’m sorry I worried you so much. I’m sorry I was so reckless. You don’t owe me your life, John. I don’t want you to die for me.”

I take in a shaky breath, pull him forward in an embrace, and whisper, “Then please, stop being so reckless. I cannot live in a world without you. Friend, brother, lover, it doesn’t matter, if I lose you, I will follow you. You cannot die, Alexander, you have too much left undone.” 

He nods, and I know he means well, but I also know his passion, his dedication to our revolution, and I know this will be a discussion we will continue to have several times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to feed the muse! Drop a review!


	6. The Envy of All

I am grateful when Alexander accepts General Washington’s offer, he is safer, finally more cautious, working directly under the General and his talents and merit as a writer and scholar are evident in his work for Washington. I worry less about his being killed in the war, and this gives me a fair amount of relief, much to his consternation and frustration. I still feel guilt, knowing I influenced his acceptance of the position as Washington’s secretary, knowing his disappointment to lose his opportunity to fight, but I would rather he live and have the chance to rise up. He is meant for more than a death on the battlefield. 

By the grace of Washington and our growing notoriety for the Revolution, we manage to secure an invitation to the winter ball hosted by the esteemed Philip Schuyler, father of the illustrious Schuyler sisters. This is how I find myself adjusting my jacket, checking its cleanliness, marveling at Mulligan’s skill, and as I look away from the looking glass at Alexander’s return, my breath stutters for a moment. Mulligan has outdone himself with Alexander’s clothes, by my request, money very well spent. Alexander, by his current dress, looks like a man of distinction, prestige. Surely, he will gain the admiration of many this evening and hopefully find a woman worthy enough to be his match. 

The suit is so new he fidgets in it, more so than his usual restlessness. My Alexander, constantly in motion. I grasp his shoulder and grin at him. You look quite handsome tonight, if we had the time, the opportunity, I would show you how worthy you are for admiration, but we have an appointment for revelry tonight. 

“John, are you…”

I shake my head, and smile at him, “I am resigned to my position in your life. We needn’t discuss that further. This is your time to rise. Find a match tonight, someone connected, someone who might win your affections so thoroughly as I have. I might even find a worthy match tonight.” 

“Oh? Do you think so in light of your father’s missive following the declaration of your betrothal to Martha Manning rescinded?” Alexander casually mentions with a raised eyebrow. 

I groan. That would certainly be off-putting to some of the ladies and their father’s at tonight’s ball. I had worked hard to avoid thinking about my father’s public cry admonishing my refusal for Martha Manning’s hand in marriage, an arrangement of his design, and an obvious ploy to draw me back to South Carolina. No doubt a response to my refusal to reply to several of his abusive missives to me in the past several months. 

I shift my gaze to his and shake my head, “I am capable of choosing my own bride. I will not be a pawn to my father in an arranged marriage, lest you forget we fight for life and liberty my dear Alexander.” 

“I will concede your logic, my dear Mr. Laurens,” grinning at the disgust on my face he continues, “Now, let’s go, and hope we meet the best of women.”

I laugh, all the while thinking, the best of women will never compare to my Alexander Hamilton. 

Upon our approach, we have the displeasure of encountering none other than Aaron Burr. Arrogant and smirking he eyes the pair of us, before shifting his attention entirely to Alexander. 

“Well, I understand how Laurens could gain an invitation to this event, even in the wake of the current scandal of his canceled engagement. How did you manage it, Hamilton? A winter’s ball hosted by Philip Schuyler, his daughters the envy of all. Imagine, if you can marry a sister, you’re rich, son.” 

Alexander’s eyes narrow and I hope this does not lead to a fight, but I have to smirk at his reply. “Is it a question of if, Burr, or which one?”

Burr’s eyes narrow, but before he can manage a comeback, we brush past him and go inside. The room is filled with officers, politicians, fine young ladies, and gossiping women, not unlike the debutante balls I’m used to in Charleston. I look at Alexander and he is awestruck at the lavishness of the event. I nudge him and he gives his head a shake to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand…worthy women.

Alexander gives me a firm clap on the back and grins at me, and I nod, knowing he wants to prowl on his own. I see fair company in Lafayette and Mulligan near the refreshments. I can agree, a drink is certainly in order. 

“Bonjour, mon frère,” Lafayette greets me and Mulligan nods around his glass of champagne, he winces, but it is alcohol and it is free, he’ll take his alcohol in spite of the dry taste. 

“Mulligan, take it easy, enough of those and we’ll need a wagon to get you home,” I say with a laugh.

He blanches again at the taste and shrugs and I notice Lafayette looking past me, a concerned expression on his face. I turn to follow his gaze and see Alexander talking to the eldest Schuyler sister, Angelica. I tighten my right hand into a fist, my nails biting into my palm as I breathe out slowly and turn my attention back to my friends. Lafayette gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

I take a glass of champagne for myself, and despite my affluent upbringing I gulp down the glass and follow with another before I decide that is enough for now. No need to get drunk and ruin Alexander’s opportunity. 

I return my attention to Alexander, notice a shift in Angelica Schuyler’s expression, and see her look across the room, to her sister. I watch as a set determination seems to steel the woman, and she leans forward, whispers something to Alexander, and then she is leading him to her sister, Elizabeth. She leaves him with her sister, and I do not miss the conflicted expression on her face as she leaves the ballroom. 

I do not bother to alert Lafayette and Mulligan as I begin to make my way after the older sister, Angelica. 

I find her outside in the massive gardens, the night chilled, and I shrug out of my jacket and place it upon her shoulders as I approach her from behind. She starts, her eyes narrow on me with suspicion. 

“You needn’t have followed me. I would prefer if you would return to the festivities, given without a chaperone, our meeting this way might excite scandal, sir,” she says sharply. 

I bow before her, recalling the southern charm my mother so painstakingly instilled in me. When I right myself, she looks up at me, now curios in spite of herself. “I’m sorry, you seem familiar, yet I don’t recall our acquaintance.” 

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, friend of Alexander Hamilton, whom you just met, unless my observations are mistaken.” 

“No, not mistaken,” she says subdued, fretting her bottom lip, a quality I find most attractive and reminiscent of my Alexander.

“He’s fascinating, isn’t he? Entrancing, and yet he underestimates how attractive he actually is. I, myself find it a grave matter of frustration,” I begin, and seeing that I’ve captured her attention, I continue with a question, “What did he say that made you doubt him? Why lead him to your sister, when from what I’ve heard about you, you would be a good match for him, clever, opinionated, a woman who could challenge his intellect.” 

“He’s handsome, he actually does know that, and he is intelligent, though he may overestimate how much,” she replies. 

I raise a brow at her estimation of him. “Those are good and fair observations. You like him, you noticed him all those months ago when he spoke in the town square, that’s why you approached him tonight.” 

She scoffed, “My intent was to avoid Aaron Burr.”

I laughed at that, and she started and then smiled. “Well, if you wish to avoid Aaron Burr you choose your company well.” 

She laughs, rich and smooth, lively, and my breath catches. She really would be a perfect match for him, and I say as much again. 

She shakes her head. “I can tell he has no family; he does not come from money. I am the eldest of three daughters. I am expected to marry for wealth and comfort, my happiness is secondary to that. You are from a similar family situation, you understand. My sister, Eliza, she can marry for happiness, and I saw her face as he entered the room. I saw her face when he approached me. My love for my sister is reason enough to introduce them, her happiness serves to be my happiness.” 

“You’ve already resigned to deny your attraction to him?” I say with a sigh as I take her hand and lead her to one of the stone benches in the garden. 

“What are your intentions, Mr. Laurens?” Her eyes meeting mine, searching. 

I snort in amusement, and she arches a brow in expectation of a reply. “I intend to see my Alexander happy, nothing more, nothing less. You understand this situation, it is similar to the one you find yourself in with your sister, Eliza.”

Her eyes widen in realization, and I curse the champagne for loosening my damned tongue too much. I feel the heat flood my cheeks and look toward the ground. 

“He told me that I struck him as a woman that’s never been satisfied. When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he too is never satisfied,” she says quietly, and she takes in a sharp breath and I notice her hands ball up into fists of frustration. “To answer your earlier question, that is what he said to me. I questioned him to learn more about his situation in society, to which he avoided response. I wanted to strike him for saying such a thing, that I would never be satisfied, and yet I fear he is right.” 

I reach for her left hand, work on unfolding it from a fist and kiss the top of it, meeting her surprised gaze, and sadly I reply to her, “When you’ve met him, and you fall in love with him in those first moments, you cannot be satisfied. He is a force of reckoning, Miss Schuyler. I know this to be true better than anyone.” 

I see the tears rise to her intelligent dark eyes, so similar to Alexander’s and my breath catches again. She tries to blink them back, but I reach up and brush them away, seeing the evidence of her grief in losing her heart to my Alexander, and I understand her heartbreak.

“You care for him?” she asks. 

“I do, but I cannot allow myself to stand in the way of his greatness. He is destined for greatness, and I can content myself with loving him from afar as long as he manages to find some happiness in his ascension,” I respond, and she nods. 

“He seems passionate, fiery, Eliza is calm, peaceful, kind, she could temper that in him,” Angelical offers, and I smile at the thought, but I know Alexander, my Alexander always in motion, never slowing down, I pray for Eliza’s happiness briefly as her sister collects herself, then she returns my coat and leads me back inside. 

Angelica breaks away from me once we are inside. Every now and then I can catch her sending me a small smile. Every time I catch her looking at Alexander wooing her sister Eliza, I feel a heaviness, a heaviness that I know is shared between Angelica and I. It is only a matter of time before Alexander wins the hand of Eliza, who already seems so enamored of him. 

At the end of the night I manage to collect Alexander, and as we are leaving, Angelica approaches, a strained smile on her face as she bids Alexander goodnight, and her smile becomes more relaxed as our eyes meet and she says, “Mr. Laurens, I wish you a good night, and look forward to the letters you’ve promised me. Please send them to my satisfaction” 

My eyes widen at the request and pointed dig at Alexander, and then I smirk in amusement as I cheekily reply, “With so gracious a reminder, how could I dare disappoint you, Miss Schuyler?” 

Her eyes narrow, and I grin, realizing I have somehow accepted a challenge. Perhaps a much-needed distraction for both of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to review!


	7. Mind at Work

The evening over, I sigh as I ready myself for bed, glad that my sisters are too exhausted from the evening. I will have these hours to reflect and ready myself for when we recall the night together, and more importantly, so I can brace myself for Eliza to gush over Alexander Hamilton.

Alexander Hamilton, attractive, handsome, clever, a mind at work. He is my equal in intellect, how we could challenge each other, but given his circumstances and Eliza’s new attachment, I know he is not meant for me. Oh, his eyes, dark, intelligent, challenging, alive with passion.

I feel an ache begin to grow in my chest, and I shake my head to clear it. He is not meant to be mine, at least with Eliza, he would still be a part of my life. My breath catches as I recall my conversation with his friend, John Laurens, in the garden.

Laurens who admitted his affection and attraction to Alexander Hamilton, a man who understands this affliction I am now acquainted with. How bold of him to admit such an affection, and yet he carries this weight of sadness, knows it more intimately than I do.

I close my eyes, and instead of dark, piercing eyes, I see soft, sad green eyes, I see a lighter complexion than Hamilton’s, freckles spread across cheeks and nose, and curls carefully tied back. John Laurens knows my resignation to see my sister happy, and he is in a better social position than Alexander Hamilton, even with the scandal Aaron Burr mentioned to me earlier in an effort to divert my interest away from Laurens.

Eliza will win Alexander Hamilton, of that I am certain, and I will not mention my heartache to her, I cannot hurt her that way, but I do have someone I could share this heartache with. No, that is foolish to consider. I sigh, knowing that sleep is not close, and so I sit down at my desk, preparing paper and quill.

_My Dear Mr. Laurens,_

_This is but a friendly reminder of your promise of letters. I hope this missive sees you well, and that your luck will hold given your position in the war. Given our similar positions in relation to the people we hold dearest, could I, in confidence, trust you in matters that sway my heart?_

_Might I inquire about the strength in your restraint? I would be sorely disappointed to be so unsatisfied, as your dear Hamilton has suggested. Might I look forward to consolation if I look your way?_

_Yours, hopefully, and willing,_

_Angelica Schuyler_

I add a flourish to my letter, read it through for error, and watch as the ink dries. With a shaky hand, I take care to fold the letter and seal it with my family’s crest. I turn it over, put his title and name on the front, with a plan to send it off in the morning. I feel at ease enough now to retreat to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave reviews!


	8. Letters and Long-Distance Courting

I look up from my missive, an essay regarding the freedom of any enslaved man who joins the revolution, to see Alexander entering my tent, a brow raised in curiosity, and a letter in hand.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward the letter.

He shakes his head to clear it, his teeth worrying his bottom lip, and then replies, “It’s a letter with the Schuyler crest seal.”

“Well open it then, see what dear Eliza has to say,” I reply with a smile, ignoring the ache.

“It’s addressed to you,” he says in confusion, “It’s only been four days since the ball. Could this be from Angelica? She did mention a promise you made to write her.”

I’m surprised at the reservation in his tone, and the small measure of hurt. He passes the letter to me, and I appreciate the artistry of the writing as I see the flourishes in my name, almost as well-crafted as Alexander’s, and I know Alexander’s deductions are correct, and Angelica Schuyler has indeed written me. 

Alexander leaves me to my letter, and after reading its content I am drawn to pen a response. I look to my current essay, but something in Angelica’s letter calls for a reply.

_My Hopeful and Willing Miss Schuyler (the elder),_

_Thank you most graciously for the reminder of the promise of letters you obligated me to. I find it amusing your architecture in guaranteeing a written correspondence from me. What a clever and worthy woman you are proving to be._

_I am, as evidenced by this letter, still charmed in the art of war, and very much alive._

_Our similar positions would imply confidentiality in our correspondence, and yes, I do not mind your seeking my counsel in such matters of your heart, or even mine._

_My strength is not what you think in regards to my restraint. I have had moments of weakness, but I will advise in this as best I can should you inquire. Should your strength wane, your resolve falter, I am yours to seek comfort in. I hope this sees to providing some satisfaction for you. I eagerly await your reply._

_Yours, in Confidence,_

_Lt. Col. John Laurens_

My handwriting not as ornate as Angelica’s nor Alexander’s, I finish the letter with my title and a smirk. I wonder how frustrated my letter will leave her given my playful address of her, and I hope she sees evidence of my sincerity in our shared situation as well.

I fold my response, address and seal it, and slip out from my tent to send it off. Once done with the letter I seek out Alexander, suspecting he is brooding over my correspondence with the eldest Miss Schuyler.

I find him mired in his work, quill scratching at a fast pace, his hair in disarray, ink stains on his hands, and even across his left cheek. It amazes me how concentrated he is as he writes, and how much he can produce in a single sitting, quill flying across the page with flourish and purpose.

Rather than interrupt I quietly enter and take a seat near him, careful that I do not disturb him. I watch the strength in his shoulders as he adjusts them, stretches his arms forward, and then returns quill to pot and shakes his hands loose. He then turns to me, having been aware of my presence as soon as I entered.

“So…” he begins and pierces me with his curious dark gaze, where the hurt still lingers.

“After Angelica introduced you to Eliza, I followed her out to the gardens. We spoke, and she is quite intelligent and beautiful. She reminds me a lot of you with that quick wit of hers, actually. Do you find fault in my correspondence with her? Would it harm your chances with Eliza?” I ask.

He is worrying his lip and I draw in a breath, oddly preparing to oppose him if he suggests I no longer write Angelica. Finally, he shakes his head, and then quietly responds, “No, it wouldn’t hurt my chance with Eliza. I just… This is something of yours I’m not a part of. I don’t… Is this how you feel when we… when I can’t return your affections? How have you endured this for so long? I only experience a moment of it, and the hurt runs deep.”

“I’ve grown used to it, Alex, and it is my choice to bear the weight of it. I’ve accepted this as part of the cost of loving you and being close to you. You are worth every ache,” I say, and then I turn to look away and continue, “I will only ask this one thing of you, don’t ask me to stop writing her. You have so much influence over me, and I’m helplessly yours, but this one thing, it’s the first thing I’ve wanted since avowing my dedication to you. Please, allow me this lifeline.”

“Do you think me so cruel?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion as he grasps my face to get me to look at him. “I already take so much from you; I cannot deny you this. You’ve endured so much for me. I wish you the best, you seem fond of her, and from only one meeting.”

I smile sadly, “One meeting was all it took for me to fall for you.”

He closes his eyes, his breath coming in pants, seeming to fight an internal battle, drawing me closer until our foreheads brush, the intimacy of this stokes the ache that begins to rise in my belly, my desire for him. He tilts his head, our lips brushing, and then he deepens the kiss, the first kiss he initiates between us. Greedily I accept all he willingly gives, hating myself and the cost of the grace of this moment. His pain is too high a price. I can feel the ache as we continue, his arms drawing me into an embrace, his ache echoes mine.

I’m uncertain how long we maintain this embrace, but we separate, and as he returns to his work, I say what needs to be said to resume normalcy between us.

“Have you written Eliza yet? Angelica seems to think she was quite taken with you and you have spoken of her several times since the ball.”

He turns to look at me, our eyes locking, resignation, resolve, and understanding passing between us and he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he says, “I haven’t yet, but once I finish this document, I will write her.”

I nod and then grin, striking his shoulder in encouragement. “You’ll be married within a few months given your talent with writing.”

He laughs dryly, and then asks in an air of solemnity, “Will you be there, be my best man?”

I give his shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Always Alex, I’m always your best man. I will be there for everything. You couldn’t keep me away. One day we will be a pair of old men sharing company with our grandchildren playing around us.”

I watch him take in a shaky breath as he imagines this future, and then his hand covers mine on his shoulder. “Promise me, John, you never break your promises.”

“You have my word. I am always yours.”

* * *

I have been anxious since sending my letter to Laurens. I wonder if I’ve played the hand of a fool. I’ve inquired into his friendship with Alexander Hamilton, and the rumors imply their closeness, rarely are they seen apart, save in battle.

I close my eyes, and I recall Hamilton, his intensity, his damning words to me, and then my mind shifts to Laurens draping his coat across my shoulders, how he startled me, the smell of him surrounding me in the embrace of his coat as we spoke.

He was clever, witty in his own way, and maddening, how he challenged me, called upon my attraction for his friend, and yet his own sorrow for the affection he carries for Alexander Hamilton, the ache I witnessed behind his hazel green gaze.

I’m broken from my reverie as Peggy brings me a letter.

“This arrived for you. Who is it from? Do you have a beau like Eliza?” she asks.

I roll my eyes, but indulge her immaturity as I say, “I might, now off with you, my name is on this letter, not yours.”

She scoffs, spins around, and then heads to our father’s library, no doubt to peruse the military tomes she enjoys so much. I smile at her predictability and then turn my attention to the letter. The writing is simple, legible, straightforward, very much like the man himself I suppose.

As I begin reading my ire raises as he begins with teasing me. I nearly dismiss the letter with the first paragraph, but my curiosity and memory of his sorrow keep me engaged.

He seems open to further correspondence and offers further advice on how to address my attraction for Hamilton. He offers himself to me as comfort, and I feel a flutter in my stomach at the thought of this. I frown as he mentions his hope that his letter sees me satisfied, what a damnable word. Eagerly he awaits my reply, mine in confidence, and then the audacity to sign with his rank and position. What a frustrating man!

_My Dearest Confidant, Lieutenant Colonel,_

_Are you always so verbose in reply to sincere inquiry? I would have expected more courtesy from a southern gentleman._

I smile at my admonishment of him and continue…

_I hope this letter sees you in good health in spite of your disagreeable nature._

_I have yet to thank you for the care and courtesy you extended to me that night, in the garden. No one else knows about our discourse that night… Unless, well I suppose you may have shared that with your friend, Mr. Hamilton. For the sake of my honor, please, disclose that to no one else, remember, you are mine in confidence._

_I have recently heard of your canceled engagement to a young woman in Charleston. I am sorry for your loss in this matter._

_Yours, Compassionately,_

_Angelica_

With a deep breath, wondering why I am choosing to continue correspondence, I fold the letter, address and seal it, and I head downstairs eager to see it on its way.

* * *

It has been a week since my reply to Angelica, and my last personal encounter with Alexander. Alexander has either been kept busy by the general or is throwing himself into work to avoid the intensity of matters between us.

I notice the courier in the camp, and upon seeing me he approaches me, letter in hand. I recognize the writing and the seal. A smile pulls at my mouth, and I go to my tent to read Angelica’s letter.

I raise a brow at her tone at the beginning of the letter, chuckling at her expectations of a southern gentleman, and I am more than certain that I will fall short of those expectations. I am pleased at her continued wishes for my good health and laugh at her admonishment of my disagreeable nature. I believe she enjoys my teasing, however… She mentions our evening in the garden, and I close my eyes in surprising fondness of the memory.

I wince at the mention of my canceled engagement, an engagement I never requested. I note the flourish beneath her name, just Angelica. Curious, even with the Schuyler seal, this seems a defiance of her familial name, a defiance against the expectations as eldest sister, this appeals to my curiosity that she requests such familiarity with me so early in our correspondence.

_My Dearest, compassionate, Angelica,_

_I appreciate your sympathy in my current position. There is very little to grieve in a canceled engagement I neither asked for nor agreed to. I am afraid that your expectations of a southern gentleman will fall abysmally short with me. I ask humbly for your acceptance of this and my disagreeable nature._

_I recall our night together in question, and you needn’t worry. I did confess to our time together in the garden to Alexander, however, he does not know the nature of our meeting nor what we discussed. I am ever your loyal confidant in this regard._

_I am perplexed by the signature of your letter; you sign only with your first name. Are you implying you would deny your name? To what extent would you deny it? My dearest Angelica, are you breaking the etiquette of our society to propose your intentions to me and accept my name? So soon, our correspondence barely in infancy?_

_Yours, curiously,_

_John_

* * *

With an eagerness I find appalling, I meet the courier at the door, two letters, one for me and the other for Eliza. I swallow thickly at the letter addressed to her, noticing the flourishes in the address, no question from Alexander Hamilton. I look at the simpler script addressed to me, and smile.

Once I have given Eliza her letter, I retreat to my room to read John’s letter to me, eager for his words.

I smile at his admittance of his disagreeable nature, pleased that he is humble and aware of his flaws. I also appreciate his reassurance that he is a trusted confidant, and I am also relieved to find he is not too bothered by his canceled engagement, or I am until I reach the end of his letter.

The man is absolutely infuriating, perhaps even more so than his best friend, his great first love, Alexander Hamilton. How dare he, and yet… would it be so remiss, would a life as Alexander Hamilton’s sister and John Lauren’s wife be so unsatisfying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to review!


	9. To the Bride, To the Groom

I take a deep breath, having already made it through the ceremony, watching my Alexander swear fealty to his Eliza, and now here I am at the reception, ready to give a toast in honor of my Alexander’s union. I smile, though it does not reach my eyes, and Alexander meets my gaze, and I see the longing, the sorrow, the acceptance. 

I clear my throat, tap my glass, and address the crowd of guests, “I am pleased to see my friend so well matched, and at several times during our friendship, worried if he would ever find a woman of worth, willing to tolerate his ambition and patriotism. Alex congratulations and Eliza thank you for the happiness and peace you will bring to him, the most restless and loyal friend I have, a man I call brother in affection. All right everyone, now give it up for the maid of honor, Angelica Schuyler!”

Alexander nods his thanks and recognition, and I raise my glass and quickly drain it. I desperately want to leave, step out for air, but I know who will speak next, and I feel it my duty to remain, to provide what support and strength I can in our shared grief. 

I watch as she stands, the same conflict of joy and sorrow in her dark eyes. She too raises her glass, “A toast to the groom, to the bride, from your sister. I will always be by your side. To your union and the hope that you provide and may you always, always be satisfied.”

I raise a brow in acknowledgment of her rub at Alexander and see him wince at the dig, recognizing it and seeing the challenge in Angelica’s sharp gaze suddenly on him. Admirable, how even in our hour of defeat she continues to challenge him. As she drains her glass our gazes meet and when a fair amount of time has passed, we retreat from the ballroom and find ourselves once again in the gardens. 

We’ve written dozens of letters, and I’ve gotten to know her so well through her wit, but this is the closest we have been since the last time we met in this garden. I watch as she paces, turns, chews her lip, and tries to collect herself. She surprises me when she launches herself at me and I embrace her, knowing that we both need comfort at this moment. 

“I know she’ll be happy as his bride, and he will be satisfied and damn lucky to have her, my dear Eliza, but, John, it hurts, it hurts when I think of my own satisfaction and how it may never be met. How… How do you do this, and for so much longer than me, how?” she asks, falling apart in my arms. 

She looks up at me, her beautiful dark face streaked with her grief, a reflection of my own, and instead of attempting to give word to something words fail, I wipe her tears, grasp her chin and lean down, my lips meeting hers, our shared grief joins, igniting into something… something more. 

She pulls back stunned, and then her hands find their way to my hair, tearing it from the tie, my hair falls around my face as she drags me down into another kiss, angry, fiery, hungry. Her passion so like a passion I no longer have the opportunity to know and indulge in. 

We hear a gasp and part, our eyes fix on young Peggy, and Angelica begins to fret as Peggy flees. 

I take Angelica’s hand and squeeze it to recapture her attention. She looks at me, her face flushed with shame, fear, and worry. I smile, push back some of her hair fallen from its place. 

“Have I ever told you how rash and impulsive I can be my dearest, compassionate Angelica?”

Her brows furrow in confusion, and I continue, “I recall your implied proposal to me in your second letter. Why not? I know of a chaplain available; I can find someone to witness. Who better to attempt to discover satisfaction than with each other? We are transparent with our grief of Alexander. No one knows that discontent better than us.”

She pulls away and I let her, watch as she paces more, and then she stops suddenly, determination sets into her visage, and she raises her dark gaze to mine, a challenge.

“You aren’t teasing? You propose marriage?” she asks, her teeth fretting her bottom lip, waiting on my reply. 

I approach her, grasp her hand, and raise it to my lips, pressing a promise to her palm, united in our shared grief. “Tonight, my dearest Angelica, tonight let’s seek our satisfaction.”

“Do you really mean it?” she whispers.

I nod and then I pause, “There is something you should know first.” 

She pulls back and waits for me to continue, “I am a man from money, and my name comes with prestige, however much it is tarnished in my father’s continued efforts. I am not a man of money though. I have been disowned, as far as I know, I’m a Lieutenant Colonel in the Revolution, my life at risk in the name of my honor and willingness to fight for our cause. You told me once that your father’s only expectation of you is to marry rich for comfort. I cannot give you that Angelica. Would you still have me?” 

“I’ve already lost so much for making a decision weighed by the expectation to marry rich. No one would understand me more than you, especially in our shared grief over Alexander,” she says, reaches up to my face, tears blinking from her eyes and slipping down her face again, and I have my answer as she presses her lips to mine in a chaste promise. 

She wastes no time in leading me out of the garden. Once out on the street, I head back to the house and she asks me why. 

“I need to send for our witness.” 

Her eyes widen, but she nods, trusting me. I beseech one of the servants to request Lafayette to come out on an urgent matter. Angelica moves to conceal herself in the shadows as Lafayette leaves the house, haste in his step. He stops when he sees me standing at the gate.

“Mon frère?” he asks, his brows rising as Angelica emerges from the shadows to join my side. “What is this?”

“I need a favor Lafayette,” I manage as I take Angelica’s hand in mine. 

“Mon Dieu,” he says, eyes widening. “I expect I am to accompany you to a chaplain? Are you certain? What about Alexander?”

I draw in a sharp breath and say, “I cannot take him from his bride for this, and he has no part to play in our decision, not in this matter. I need a friend to witness, please. We will alert everyone once we have settled in.” 

“Surely you know the scandal that would follow,” Lafayette replies. 

“We do,” Angelica says, stepping toward him, her hand still clasped in mine. “What we want is worth more than the scandal to follow. Please Monsieur, honor your friend’s request? Witness our marriage.”

The Frenchman acquiesces and I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “Very well mon frère, and mademoiselle. I am your man for this job.” 

We take our horses and ride out to our on-field chaplain. He is surprised to be woken up, skeptical of our request, and yet by Lafayette’s request, as a respected general, the chaplain agrees to oversee our small wedding. By dawn I am a married man, my bride the eldest of the Schuyler sisters, Angelica Schuyler Laurens. Lafayette congratulates us and grants me a fortnight of leave to enjoy the beginning of my marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to fuel the muse and review!


	10. Wait for It

We ride to a small townhouse, rundown, but seemingly welcomed, I tighten my arms around John, my husband. How strange that thought. My sister married last night, and me married this morning, eloped to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens. He ties off the horse behind the house, helps me down, and then joins me. We walk together to the door and he sweeps me into his arms, surprising me as he carries me over the threshold and easing me back down to the floor before capturing my mouth in a kiss, a kiss of passion, promise, compromise, hope. 

As we pull apart my eyes meet his as the grays break way to gold in the darkness, and now I grow nervous as I realize we are married, and the expectation that follows. 

His eyes searching mine, and his hand rises to my cheek and I lean into the touch, it feels so right, as he says, “We are newly married, but we have time Angelica. We did this so suddenly, if you need time I can wait. If you haven’t already noticed I’m quite skilled in waiting and longing. You needn’t worry about satisfying a brutish husband, I will follow at your lead.” 

His sincerity ignites a spark in my stomach, a spark that only ever really flickered at the thought of Alexander’s eyes. I wonder if Alexander Hamilton is capable of such a promise. I shake the thought free from my mind and sigh as his lips brush my forehead, pulling me into a strong, secure embrace. 

“You tell me by my lead, and then attempt to seduce me with your sincerity, how shameful, Lieutenant Colonel,” I playfully scold him, and he grins at me. 

He laughs as he responds, “By our correspondence, I thought you appreciated teasing.” 

I laugh with him and I’m surprised when he descends and captures my mouth in longing, quieting my laugh. When we part, I’m breathless and he pulls back to discard his coat, and then he takes my hand leading me to a door. 

The room is his bedroom, unkempt, obviously the room of a bachelor, but smelling of him. My eyes land on the bed and I look to him, and he runs his tongue across his swollen lips before he says, “If you’re tired rest. I can sleep on the sofa if you like, I just wanted to show you our bedroom. I apologize for the clutter; I wasn’t expecting to entertain a bride so suddenly.” 

I swat at his chest and laugh. “We are a pair of fools. How can we laugh so much under these circumstances?”

“Better we laugh now before the shouting starts,” he shrugs. I wince, and he apologizes, but I wave it way. 

“This is, as you’ve said, our room now, and our bed, you don’t need to spend the night, or morning rather, on the sofa, I’m not mad at you yet,” I say with a glint of mischief in my eye. 

“Are you certain? Even if I slept in not a single stitch, would you find that agreeable?” he smirks. 

I snort, and rise to the playful challenge, “I will see that side of you eventually, however you find comfort.” 

He appears stunned by my reply, and then my cheeks flush at the realization that I will need assistance in uncinching my corset, and also that I am very much without anything other than my underclothes. 

He notices my silence and is concerned by my expression as he leans forward and asks, “Is everything okay? I don’t have to stay in here with you if it’s too much.”

I shake my head and then take in a breath. “I just realized I am your wife and we eloped and you’ve brought me home and the only clothes I have are the ones I’m wearing.”

“Oh…oh!” he says and winces, “This was sudden, is that like you? It’s not unexpected from me. We can fix that. I can go out later, I have enough for clothes for you, it may not be what you’re accustomed to, but we can find something for you until we can inquire at your former home.” 

“I don’t regret this, John, I don’t want you to fear that I have regret for this. This feels like freedom,” I respond with a shy smile, and then reach behind me and continue, “Help me with this, please?” 

He doesn’t hesitate, and the intimacy of his hands brushing my shoulders and back as he works to untie the cinches causes my breath to catch. He notices and leans forward, his lips grazing my shoulders. I bite my bottom lip to quiet myself. He chuckles, his warm breath raising goosebumps on my flesh. 

I feel the corset being pulled enough to loosen it, and then he spins me around, captures my mouth with his in hunger and want. He pulls back, a new light flickering in his eyes as he looks at me, and I feel helpless, riding the waves of the flames rising in my stomach. 

He leans his forehead to mine again, and my breath stutters from my barely open mouth. “I’m not teasing you now,” he whispers, our eyes meet as he reaches behind and frees my hair from the pins, my hair falling around us, and I swallow thickly at how close he is, the masculine scent overwhelming. His green eyes brightening, and I wonder how I could still crave the dark eyes of Alexander as I see so much hidden passion within the green depths of John’s eyes. 

“Are you so playful that you have to tell me that you are not teasing me?” I ask softly. 

He chuckles, the deep sound reverberating through me, echoing within my bones. He releases me from my corset and bustle completely, my dress falling to the floor with the rest of it, I step out of my shoes as he guides me a step forward, he takes one back to allow me to step free of my clothes. He pulls back to look at me in my underclothes, and I feel exposed, a flush rising up from my chest as his eyes analyze every inch of me until his eyes meet mine again, seeing me, not just my body. I’ve never felt so bare for anyone before. 

“How far my dearest, compassionate Angelica?” he asks, his voice husky with the grit of lust. 

“I… I don’t know…” I respond quietly, knowing his experience would certainly exceed my own, my confidence failing me now. 

“Would you like for me to take the lead?” he asks. 

I bite my bottom lip as I nod, and he takes my hand, leading me to his—our bed. He lowers me gently to sit, and with a kind smile he begins to take off his shirt, then he sits next to me, taking off his boots, leggings, garters. He stops at the ties of his pants, and I flush and he looks up, seeking something from me. I am still in my underclothes, and he is now down to his pants. His hand runs up my right arm, and I feel the heat coiling in my stomach. 

“We needn’t go further. I’m a patient man, and given our circumstances, what leads us to our marriage, what leads us to this moment…” 

I lean toward him, take his hand, and place it on my shoulder near the puffed sleeve of my underclothes. 

“Those circumstances do not matter right now, show me what part of you belongs to me,” I request. 

Soon I am relieved of my underclothes, his eyes washing over me as I lay back, nervous, and he smiles as he crawls up the bed after me, his mouth finding mine, his hands on either side of me, only his mouth touching me, slowly his mouth working down my jaw, gently nipping and sucking my exposed collarbone. As his mouth journeys further I cry out, surprise, pleasure, his gaze rises, and he smiles gently, and I cannot put words to the emotion overwhelming me in that moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave reviews!


	11. Life Doesn't Discriminate Between the Sinners and Saints

I take my time with my dear, compassionate Angelica, knowing that I am her first. She is not meant for rushing, but savoring, given how long I’ve waited for the realization of intimacy, I can at least work toward soothing the injury that Alexander’s barbed words have yielded. 

Careful to collapse next to her following our wedding morn, I smile softly as I turn to look at her, our loose hair tangling as we roll to our sides to face each other. 

“Have I satisfied?” I ask gently, and she smiles softly. 

“I wasn’t certain of what to expect, but I…” she cannot finish, I watch as her faces shifts as she tries to find words to express herself, and I spare her from further searching and capture her lips. 

When we part, she sighs and seems barely able to keep her eyes closed, and I am tired as well. We’ve stayed up the entire night, and consecrated our vows, at the very least, sleep is now in order. I pull her close, drawing her into my arms. She traces a pattern on my skin, tracing my freckles and commenting on the constellations she finds as we both begin to drift off. 

I wake abruptly at the sound of an urgent knock on my door that borders on desperation. I carefully get up, pulling on my pants, thinking perhaps something has happened at the camp. I call out, surprised that Angelica only rolls over, stirring, but seeming to be able to resume sleep. 

The knocking stops and my heart with it as I recognize the voice, “John, thank God, I saw Prospero tied in the back, and you’re home.”

I open the door, immediately taking in the sight of his panic. “Alexander? What is it?”

As I step back, he enters, and begins pacing, and stops, his eyes widen at my state of undress and then says, “I’m sorry, I know it’s early, but it’s urgent. This morning we discovered Angelica missing. Eliza is frantic and my father-in-law is coordinating a search for her.”

I inhale and let out a deep breath, my hand runs through my hair as I raise my face to meet his worried gaze. “That isn’t necessary,” I reply. 

“Not necessary?” he says, his voice rising in his panic. “John, my sister-in-law is missing! We have to find her.” 

At the sound of the bedroom door opening, we both turn, and I brace myself as she says, “Consider me found, Alexander.” 

She is wearing my discarded shirt, her long, dark, beautiful legs exposed beneath it, and I step in front of her to conceal her as much as possible in her current state of undress. 

“John?” he says, his voice tight and small, his eyes deep with sorrow as he beseeches me for explanation. 

His sorrow makes my breath catch, and I struggle to find words. Angelica reaches for my hand, squeezes it, as he continues, “John, what is this? I knew you were writing her, I… How… She’s ruined… You’ve ruined her… Why?” 

Angelica steps back into our room, to wrap herself in the bedding. I move forward, there has to be something that can be done, he’s so broken. As I draw closer, I notice how wild his eyes have become as snaps, “How… How could you… Why?” 

Once I’m within his reach he launches himself at me. I brace for the impact of the punch I have deserved since my confession of love for him. The blow comes, but not in the form of a punch. His lips guided by anger and despair collide with mine, and he is my Alexander, and never before have I been able to refuse him. 

He pulls back at the sound of a gasp, and we both turn to Angelica. Her face shifts from shock to calculating, and I fear that I am about to lose the two people I have grown closest to. 

“John, I thought what you said in the garden the first night we met and spoke… I thought your confession was for something one-sided, that your feelings for him were not reciprocated,” she says gently, and her eyes widen at Alexander as I lower my head, unsure of how to respond and unable to meet her inquiring gaze. 

“An…gelica,” Alexander manages, as if only just recalling her presence, and I feel the urge to defend him. 

“It does not matter anymore. He has taken a wife, and so have I. Angelica, I never meant for you to know this part of me, his power over me,” I say softly. 

“Wife?” Alexander questions and looks between Angelica and me, and runs his hand through his hair, loosening it from its tie. 

Angelica approaches me, her hand on my shoulder and she tells him about our early departure from the reception with Lafayette. She mentions the ride to the camp, waking the chaplain, and our exchange of vows, our union of similar circumstances. 

“I… I don’t understand any of this? How, why?” he asks, his confusion and hurt evident, and I struggle to catch my breath as I move to the sofa, my head in my hands. 

“No,” I hear suddenly, sharp, a fierce declaration, and I turn to see Angelica start to tear into him. “You don’t have anything to understand! You just take and hurt and cut people with your words. Do you realize how much he loves you? He’s told me, in our letters, when we spoke, and I didn’t see the depth of it until just now. Do you have any idea the influence you have over him, had over me? He owes you no explanation and neither do I. I suggest you go home to my sister, tell her that I am safe, and will return this afternoon. You keep her company, offer her comfort in my absence, and you needn’t judge us, as our grief in our unrequited love for you is what has drawn us together!”

“I did not do this. I am not responsible for this!” he replies, his hands gesticulating wildly between Angelica and me. 

“Alex, the fault lies in all of us, though you are not responsible for the choice I’ve made in taking a wife. You now have Eliza, happiness, the comforts of a home and growing a family, things I could not offer you, the security and a legacy to inherit,” I say, and then I take in a breath and meet his pain-filled eyes, the weight of my heartbreak clear in my eyes. He takes in a sharp breath as I ask, “Would you deny me any of that?” 

“It’s kind of too late for denial now,” he bites out, and then recoils and tries to apologize, his confliction evident. 

Angelica, taking pity on him, goes to him, grasps his shoulders, guides him to the door, “Go to Eliza. We will return this afternoon to explain to my father what has happened. Please, do your best to keep this in confidence. Alexander, I am sorry for your pain in this, I am, but he is hurt, as am I. Do not confide this to Eliza, spare her that hurt.”

He nods, “Yes, yes, of course, she has no part in any of this, a saint among us the sinners.” 

She grasps his face and I watch as my wife kisses my Alexander, my breath catches at the beauty of the sight, how tender she is. She releases him and nods to the door, “That will be the first and last time. Now go to my sister, alert them that I am safe, and plan my return for this afternoon.” 

She closes the door behind him and her knees buckle as she clutches the bedclothes to her and begins to sob. I am by her side in moments, pulling her into my arms to comfort her. I am uncertain how long we remain this way, but she composes herself, forces a smile that softens into a genuine expression as she leans forward, brushes her lips with mine, and says, “You need to get me a suitable dress, I am fine with something plain and practical. Once you are back home, we will need to prepare to return to my… my father’s house, perhaps in spite of my disgrace to him I may yet be allowed to gather some of my things, and then I can dedicate myself to keeping our house.”

I apologize and watch in concern as her eyes narrow on me. “Do you regret our choice? Do you forget who I am, what I am capable of, that I have a mind that is more than capable? This is a challenge, what do you do when faced with a challenge?”

I smile at her, proud of the strong woman I have impulsively married, draw her in for another kiss, and respond, “Rise up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave reviews!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lafayette is my hero...

We stay on the floor for a little bit longer, taking comfort in our embrace, and after a few more moments we both sigh, and I get to my feet and help her up as well. I must admit the sight of her in the bedclothes, knowing beneath that she is in my shirt, is a very distracting thought, but knowing Alexander’s present state and failings with patience, I know that I need to get up, get her some things to wear, and then we will need to make our afternoon appointment. 

We get to our feet and I follow her to the… our bedroom to dress. She sits on the bed, and from her expression, I can see her mind at work. There is a lot to work through, and it displeases me that I cannot be here to help her work through her thoughts, but there are things that need to be done. I press a kiss to her forehead, startling her for a moment, and she smiles, and says, “Go. You shouldn’t distract me while I’m trying to think of how to convince my father against challenging you to a duel over my honor.”

I nod, heeding her advice, and taking my leave. It isn’t long before I find myself at the back entrance of the tailor’s shop. I give the two brisk followed by three long knocks to let Mulligan know it’s me. 

It doesn’t take long for him to answer and narrow his eyes on me, his large arms crossed over his broad chest. “Why did Lafayette visit me at dawn to select three dresses, surprisingly specific in sizes similar to a Schuyler sister, and tell me you would be picking them up?”

Well, Lafayette has put more thought into post-wedding arrangements than me. I feel heat rise to my face, and Mulligan says, “He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing, looked like he was ready to burst, but couldn’t get it out of him. So, you left early, I heard from Hamilton this morning that Angelica is missing, not to mention that Lafayette was called out urgently from the reception last night, and then at dawn wakes me up at the most ungodly of hours for an order of three dresses?”

“Hamilton was not the only man that got married, Herc,” I say with a wince.

He looks taken aback. “Okay, I was thinking along those lines, but then thought naw, Laurens gets into shit, but even he’s too smart for that! But hey, congratulations?”

“Thanks,” I say with a small smile, and he laughs. 

“You sure know how to find trouble. Was she in the family way?” 

“What?” I ask and cough my surprise. “No, she was chaste. I have more respect for my Angelica than that. Now can I get the order? How much?”

He waves at me with a shake of his head, “Lafayette has paid for the order, and I actually have four dresses. Mrs. Laurens, previously Miss Schuyler, was expecting a dress delivered today.”

He gathers two parcels for me, hands them to me, and as I take them, he claps a hand on my shoulder and laughs heartily. “Congratulations, but I don’t envy you. I don’t know who will be worse, Philip Schuyler or Hamilton. Best wishes my friend, I’ll spare a toast for you at the funeral.”

I can feel the heat burning in my face as his loud, mirthful laughter follows me out of the door. I find myself home quicker than expected, and once inside I give the parcels to Angelica and leave her to dress as I go into the kitchen to retrieve my emergency bottle of liquid courage. The whiskey burns down my throat, one good stiff drink. That is enough though, any more and I risk the temptation of drunkenness, and however appealing that is under present circumstances it would not look good to my new in-laws given the present state of our defiance of high society’s expectations. This will at least give an advantage to Alexander to win over Philip Schuyler’s approval and acceptance, over any chance that I could have had. 

Time is moving too swiftly, and I am jolted for a moment when I feel her hand on my shoulder. She raises a brow at the bottle on the counter, and to my surprise, she takes an impressive swig of it and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts the cork into the bottle, tilts her head and with a smirk says, “Well, are you ready to get this over with?”

As I return the smile, I feel a warmth swell in my chest, admiration in my new wife, and I wonder if perhaps this is some divine intervention. How have I managed to be so lucky as to join in union with such a challenging and headstrong woman? So similar to my Alexander, so understanding of my love for Alexander, and yet entirely independent in her willfulness. I have not found a subservient bride; I have found something akin to an equal. 

I offer to fetch a carriage, however she laughs, a sparkle in her eye and says, “We ran away on your horse to get married, why not ride back on the same horse?” 

I look at her dress, a nice plum color, made of silk and gold threading, and arch my eyebrows. It is a fine dress, and I assume the one she had ordered and set to be delivered to her today. She snorts and says, “It will be fine. I have learned some skills in running a household, as disagreeable as my father was that I insisted on learning and working among the staff. 

I look at her perplexed and recall her touch from this morning, surprisingly calloused, work-roughened hands. She continues to fascinate me. “I am more than a wealthy woman; I am capable of surviving on my own. In light of the revolution I began learning how to do these things as a means of providing for myself and my sisters should that become necessary. I would do anything for them.”

“You are singularly incredible,” I respond, and push her hair back from her face, it appears that she has decided to keep it down. “It seems that in my haste to marry you, I overlooked how lucky I am.” 

“Don’t worry, I will continue to remind you,” she replies back, a smirk on her face, her eyes gleaming with her intellect. 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” I say as we make our way to Prospero. I get on first and help her get up behind me. As we ride, she comments on the dress. 

“You know John, given a soldier’s salary, I wasn’t expecting such a fine dress, although I am pleased with the empire waist. Corsets can be tiresome.”

“Oh? You mean this isn’t the dress you had ordered?” I said before thinking.

Her arms tighten around me for a moment, and then she asks, “This isn’t what you picked for me? The dress I ordered was the rose-colored one.”

I wince. “Consider it a wedding present from Lafayette. He anticipated you might need clothing once we found our way free of the wedding bed.” 

She laughed and playfully swatted my stomach. “Tell Monsieur Lafayette that his taste is unparalleled and then ask him how he was so good at guessing my size.”

She sobers as we draw up to the Schuyler mansion, and it is larger and more impressive in the daylight than at night. I help her dismount and then join her; a servant takes charge of my horse. I grasp her chin, our eyes meeting, and I see apprehension in her gaze, but the fire there burns steadfast. I kiss her quickly, and she grasps my hand, leading the way to the door, which is flung open, the youngest Schuyler sister, Peggy, is gaping from the doorway at the sight of me by her sister’s side. 

“Angelica?” she says uncertainly, and Angelica smiles and says, “Peggy, you know better. Father will scold you for opening the door, given the current circumstance of the Revolution, you know how he prefers the male staff to answer the door lest the British invade and take over our…the house.” 

Peggy snorts in annoyance, and I grin, perhaps there is a certain amount of fire in all of the Schuyler sisters. I hope this true of Eliza. She will need a fire within her to manage Alexander’s temperament.

At the sight of young Peggy, she reminds me of my own siblings, I smirk, wink at her, and say, “Good afternoon, litter sister.”

Her eyes widen and a squeal escapes her as she looks at Angelica with a grin and says, “Well Daddy at least still has me!”

“Hush, Peggy,” my bride scolds.

Peggy giggles, looking at me and says, “He’s good looking enough. But, oooh, Daddy’s gonna be so mad! He wouldn’t have thought you, would run off and get married,” she pauses and then pouts, “You just ruined all of my wedding plans Angie!”

The look of astonishment on Angelica’s face elicits a chuckle from me and she jerks her head in my direction, her lips pulled tight and her eyes narrowed. Well, then, let’s direct that expression elsewhere. 

I sober a little, my chuckles fading, and that is when my heart jumps at the sound of a throat being sharply cleared. I watch from the corner of my eye as Angelica straightens to her full height, standing tall, shoulders back, her expression steely. 

“Daddy,” she says, acknowledging her father with a nod rather than a curtsy. Damn, she’s made the first move in what I expect is about to be a domestic battlefield.

He turns his head to look at me, and I quickly straighten, reach my hand out, but he ignores it, raises a brow, and shit, that’s where Angelica gets that mean look. I run my tongue across my lips in my nervousness, maybe Mulligan will be sharing a drink over my grave after all. 

“Who are you and why is my daughter in your company?” Philip Schuyler asks, his voice steely, backed by the power of his reputation and position. 

Angelica steps in front of me and says, “We will take this to your study, and we will include Eliza, Alexander, and Peggy in this. Whatever decisions made following this discussion no doubt will affect them as well.”

“He will be joining us?” Schuyler asks, the fury evident in his tone. 

I swallow thickly as Angelica reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I look at her, and she snorts and whispers, “Breathe Laurens. I thought you were a Lieutenant Colonel.”

I flush at her playful admonishment, and reply just as quietly, “Naw, right now I’m your daddy’s worst enemy for taking his baby girl. He’s scary.”

“We’ll see who’s scary,” she replies, and damn, just who in the hell have I married? 

Within a few moments, we are in a large room that has the look of a library, and I look around, impressed, much larger than my own father’s study back home. It takes a while for everyone to gather, but soon we are all gathered, and I smile as Eliza runs straight for Angelica and embraces her, fretting over her, and wondering what happened, where she went, when she left.

“Elizabeth, enough,” Schuyler says from behind his desk, and I sit up straighter, Alexander sends me a look pity. He has the experience with this man I do not, after all, he successfully negotiated an engagement and marriage with Eliza. He never did get around to sharing those details either. Schuyler continues, “Well, Angelica, your explanation, and I suppose an introduction of the man that currently accompanies you.” 

I can feel the fires of hell descend upon me as he glares at me, his mouth twisted in a disgusted snarl. He’s vibrating with his anger, and all of it is directed at Angelica, and not me, the rash, impulsive man who’s been writing her all these months. This is not her fight alone. 

“Mr. Schuyler, sir,” I say, surprised at the sudden strength in my voice, but if I can facedown Henry Laurens the elder, then I got this, because beneath that anger, this man clearly loves his daughters. “I am Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, you may or may not recognize me as Alexander’s best man from last night. That is neither here nor there. What is between your daughter, Angelica and I, is just that, between us. In the early hours of the morning we left the reception and with General Lafayette as a witness, I married your daughter. Angelica is my wife sir. I know these are not ideal circumstances, given our society, we expect a degree of scandal, but that does not change how I feel for your daughter nor how she feels for me. 

“She is strong enough, independent enough, and intelligent enough to make her own decisions rather than bend to what society dictates as normal for women of this age. I did not marry a woman to be subservient to me, serve me, I married a woman who is my equal, well not entirely, she is certainly my better in intellect. And if you think this is about your money or legacy, I don’t give a damn about it, give it to Alexander and Eliza with my blessing.”

I notice Alexander gaping, and I realize I am developing a talent for leaving him speechless. Angelica is also staring at me stunned, and I smile at her. “I told you what I was worth, what I owned, I come from money, yes, but I am not a man of money, but I will support you, and your voice will matter, your views will be a part of all of our decisions, even if we may not always agree.” 

Schuyler clears his throat, drawing my attention, the anger still very evident. “Your declarations may seem sincere now, but where is the record of this marriage you claim took place. As it stands, if you have lied about that you have done more to damage and dishonor my daughter’s reputation than you claim,” he says, and then he looks to Peggy and says, “Have a messenger send for General Lafayette, I will take his word on the events, as well as the documents of a legal union.”

As Peggy leaves to send for Lafayette, Angelica gets to her feet, splays her hands on her father’s desk, and meets his gaze directly. “He is sincere. I know you are disappointed; I know you expected me to perform the duties of eldest daughter and marry for wealth and to social climb, but you also made sure that each of us was educated, free-thinking. How can you expect any of us, especially me, your professed outspoken and intellectual Angelica, to conform to mindless obedience to a man that would only want me for display? A man who would just as soon entertain a cheap mistress as carry me on his arm at an event?”

“Remember your place,” he snaps.

“I am your daughter. I have made this decision and you will see the proof of it within the hour. I will not apologize for making a decision that gives me the freedom this country is fighting for. You praise a revolution, well, damn it father, I want a revelation, that I am strong, smart, and worthy to decide for myself!”

“Angelica!” Eliza gasps and Alexander draws her close against him, and seeing this tenderness he has for her hurts me a little less as I witness my wife’s fight for her independence. 

I go to Angelica, grasp her shoulders as she trembles more from anger and disappointment than anything else. I know this pain, she is seeing her father’s flaws, realizing that he is human for the first time. 

“Stay here, I’ll return when the general arrives and we will finish this discussion at that time,” he says, gets up and leaves the study, the doors close firmly behind him. 

I let out a breath, and spin Angelica around and capture her mouth in a kiss, amazed at her strength, her willfulness. We part as Alexander clears his throat, and Angelica breaks away from me and kneels before a stunned and weeping Eliza. 

“Eliza,” Angelica says softly, and Eliza looks up, tears trailing her face. 

“Angelica, why? Why this way? Why defy our father? What if he disowns you?” she whispers, the fear of the loss of her sister weighing heavy on her. 

Alexander finally speaks, pulling Eliza into him, and I help Angelica to her feet as he says, “Shh. Eliza, you are a wife now, you are independent of your father’s wishes. I will never take you away from your beloved sisters, and John is my best friend. He is an honorable man, in spite of the present circumstances. He’s brash, impulsive, rude at times, but honorable. Angelica is a strong, intelligent woman, capable of making decisions for herself. Would she enter into a union without weighing the consequences?”

Eliza shakes her head, and then she reaches out for my hand, lifting her head to look me straight in the eyes, and there is that Schuyler fire, her voice soft, but with a resolve that even impresses her sister and her new husband. “Welcome to the family, John. I trust my sister to know her own heart, and I trust my husband’s assessment of your character. If what you have said to my father is true, I believe that my dear Angelica is well-matched.” 

I smile at her, and then tilt my head before narrowing my eyes on Alexander, “Wait, rude? When have I been rude?”

“When I first met you,” he says.

I snort, “How I treat Burr is of no consequence and does not constitute as rude. The man is a droll bore, and his apathy makes him suspect and borders on treason.”

“Burr,” Angelica says, a look of disgust on her face. “Ugh, bore is right. He attempted to attract my attention, and was rude and far too forward, his arrogance is only empowered by the wealth that buys him influence.”

“So, we are all in agreement that Aaron Burr is the worst,” Eliza says with a grin and releasing my hand takes up Alexander’s hand. He kisses her cheek chastely, and I sense his need to protect her, and while her heart and nature may be tender, I wonder if he has discovered the Schuyler fire in his new bride. 

“Meeting him for the first time was a complete disappointment,” he says and I recall how Alexander called Burr out on the night we met, smiling fondly, and Angelica catches sight of it. 

“Why is that amusing, Mr. Laurens?” she asks.

I smirk, “Because Mrs. Laurens, that was the night that I met Mr. Hamilton, and I daresay I have not been a complete disappointment.”

“There have been a few times…” Alexander says and I feign offense. 

“Oh… like when, name ONE time!” I challenge and Eliza pulls back from her embrace as Alex stands toe to toe with me and Angelica watches with interest. 

“How about when you influenced my decision to accept the position of Washington’s secretary?” he responds.

I burst out laughing and clap him on the shoulder. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many times I had to pull you out of the line of fire that night we stole those damn cannons! Your sword is a pen, the blood you draw is in your words. We ain’t rehashing your carelessness over that again. I’ve done you a favor, kept you alive, protected you! Someone has to look out for your sorry, arrogant, ungrateful ass.” 

The southern rises in my voice at my indignation, and he rolls his eyes and claps his arm across my shoulder and looks between his wife and mine, who appear to still be processing that the cannon raid rumor is, in fact, true, and says, “So while we’re stuck in here… Is there a liquor cabinet to raid?”

“Absolutely not,” Eliza says, her tone calm and sharp. “You will not be drunk when the general and father return.”

“Eliza?” Alexander asks in surprise, and I smirk at Angelica and chuckle as she returns the smirk with one of her own and winks. Alexander has just met a spark of the Schuyler women fire. He better be careful; I would put money on Eliza being capable of watching the world burn without a second thought if the occasion arose, those quiet ones strike without warning.

We continue to talk, mostly Alex and I trying to embarrass each other with tales of our exploits, and then the doors to the study open and the atmosphere changes as Philip Schuyler enters with Lafayette. Lafayette tilts his head and sends a wink in our direction. Well If I wasn’t worried before, I fear that I am about to have a reason to be. 

“Bonjour mesa mis les plus chers et mes adorables dames,” he says as he seats himself in a plush chair, leg flung across his knee and he acknowledges Philip Schuyler and says, “and Monsieur Schuyler, may I inquire about your request for my presence?”

We are all settling into our chairs, amazed that Lafayette is so calm in the obviously infuriated Philip Schuyler’s presence. 

“Fair enough, right to the point. It has come to my attention, that you, General Lafayette served as the witness to the marriage of my daughter,” Schuyler says, looking expectantly at my dear French friend. 

Lafayette looks down at his nails for a moment and considers his response, okay, perhaps my not so dear French friend, as he replies, “You would need to be more, how you say, specific. Which of your daughters are you meaning?”

Alexander sucks in a sharp breath, Schuyler’s expression darkens, and I try to sink back into the chair I currently occupy. 

“Sir, you jest regarding a serious matter,” Schuyler nearly growls. 

Lafayette sighs and looks up at the man, and snorts. “Careful Surveyor General, your hypocrisy is showing. How can you support the Revolution, and yet deny your daughters their independence? Yes, I witnessed two weddings yesterday. The first between your second eldest daughter and my good friend Alexander, and the second wedding was between your eldest daughter and my dear friend John Laurens. I even have the pleasure to deliver to them their documents concerning their hasty ceremony this morning, complete with the signature of bride, groom, chaplain, and myself of course as witness.” 

From within his coat, he retrieves our marriage papers, and rather than deliver them to Schuyler leans forward to hand them to me. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Schuyler snaps. 

Lafayette snorts and says, “It is documentation of their marriage, not yours. I did not come here for you. I came for my dearest friends, sir. It seems my friends choose their brides well; I fear for them in light of how I was sent for by an angered father-in-law. Tsk. Not even married an entire day, and you anger your brides’ father. Were you raised among wolves, Alexander, John?”

The confirmation of my marriage to Angelica Schuyler is a quick affair, Schuyler’s ire directed to my outrageously flamboyant French friend. He even wiggles his fingers at Schuyler as he takes his leave. There is a brief discussion of making an announcement to get ahead of the scandal of our elopement, and Schuyler leaves us shortly after, still very angry. I lean forward my hands on my knees as I take in and exhale a deep breath, I look up and see Angelica’s eyes narrowing on Alexander. Oh shit.

“Not so fast, Hamilton,” she snaps, and Eliza’s brow furrows at her sister’s tone. “You still have some business to attend to with John. I expect he will see you this evening to settle things?”

Alexander’s expression grows serious and he gives a brisk nod, “Yes, I’ll be there.” 

“Good.” 

Eliza looks in confusion at her sister, “A matter between men,” Angelica replies and says, “I’ll leave them refreshments and retire early, nothing to worry about. Honestly, they will most likely talk away the night and drink themselves into a stupor. They have not yet mourned their loss of bachelorhood.” 

The look I receive from Angelica tells me this will not be the case, but her words are enough to reassure her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to review!


	13. That Would Be Enough

As we mount John's horse, my stomach rumbles, and he blanches. "I'm already failing in securing you a meal. How long has it been since we've eaten?"

I chuckle, "I ate a little before our toasts last night."

He nods, and after a moment says, "There's nothing at home. How does dinner at the tavern sound? They may be serving stew today. We'll just ride Prospero home, and walk from there."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and he raises a brow. "I've never eaten at a tavern, nor been in one."

"Well, Mrs. Laurens, that is about to change," he says as he guides the horse toward home, with the intent to walk to the tavern.

The atmosphere is loud, a lot of cheering, a lot of men, few women, and as John escorts me inside the noise ceases. He leads me to a table near the bar and kitchens, and it isn't long before a barmaid approaches our table. Given that I am unfamiliar with the setting, John orders for us. Conversation and the noises resume. He grasps my hand from his place across from me.

"Is this too much?" he asks, and I snort, then respond, "No, different, but not too much."

The maid returns with two glasses of clear liquid. I look up at John in surprise, "Is this a first for you?"

He chuckles and meets my gaze, "Given the invitation you gave to Alexander I think it best I abstain from ale tonight."

"Thinking ahead now?"

He shrugs, "You're a good influence on me. That must mean I'm the bad one."

"I think some of your habits are probably the influence of your friend Lafayette. I've never witnessed anyone speak to my father like that," I say, and then I look up searching his green eyes, "And you stood up for me, the things you said to my father…"

He squeezes my hand and reaches forward to push my hair back from my face. "I meant every word. We are equal in our marriage, your thoughts, your views and concerns, they are just as important as mine. I imagine given what I've seen of the Schuyler fire there will be arguments, fights, and even silences, but I like that fire, your passion. You need never be submissive to me. As reckless and impulsive as I can be, I need someone to reign me in, and I suspect you would have no problem doing so."

"Fair enough, I find that very agreeable," I reply, and by then two bowls of stew are set before us, spoons in each bowl.

It smells delicious, and I watch as John begins to dig in, he looks up, remembering that he is eating in front of me and not rushing to eat on a battlefield. He slows down, and I laugh and then take my first bite. My eyes widen in appreciation and he snorts as we continue our meal and talk, enjoying the atmosphere.

He signals for drinks and I ask for a round, we could indulge a little. He nods his approval and excuses himself for a moment. I continue to people watch and our drinks arrive. I take a sip from the pint, a little bitter, certainly different from what I'm used to, but not necessarily bad.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, looking up and expecting to see John, I instead find Aaron Burr.

"Does your daddy know you're here of all places? Slumming it, looking for someone equally as unworthy as Hamilton is for your sister?" he asks, his arrogance infuriating.

My eyes narrow, but I notice John has approached. "Is there a problem here?"

"Ah, that explains the second pint," Burr replies and turns to face John, "Laurens, think you can succeed in the wake of Hamilton?"

"This is not a competition, nor a wager. I think she is smart enough to choose the company that she keeps, Burr. Would you suggest otherwise?" John asks.

Burr snorts, "If she is keeping your company, I would question her judgment."

"So, are you saying that a wife's place is at home, rather than accompanying her husband as it pleases her?" I ask.

Burr's eyes widen comically. "Wife? I've only read about one Schuyler sister's wedding."

"Oh, we eloped. Daddy is having an announcement published tomorrow," I replied smugly and as John takes up his own pint, Burr insulted and bewildered leaves us, and we tap our glasses together and take a drink, the first toast of our marriage.

We have a second round and then decide to go home in anticipation of Alexander's arrival. John chuckling all the way home at our confrontation with Burr. His jacket across my shoulders as the evening cools, his hand in mine as we walk together, every now and then he seeks a kiss.

Alexander is already there, waiting by our door. I can tell that he's watching us closely as we approach, and I will admit that I, myself, am surprised by how quick John and I have grown close, yes, our shared attractions, and our teasing letters, but that is something about John, his charm, his passion, that draws me in, perhaps it is that charm and passion that holds Alexander's attraction as well.

"It would seem I'm early," Alexander says, and then tilts his head, noticing the flush in John's cheeks. "Have you been drinking?"

He shrugs and places a hand on Alexander's shoulder, "Just a couple of rounds, we toasted your marriage last night, and thought ours deserved a toast as well. We also had to celebrate Angelica putting Burr in his place."

"Oh, really, well I can't wait to hear about that," Alexander says, as John opens the door for us.

We walk in and I ask John again if there is anything to drink or eat in the house. He winces. "I've been in the field for weeks. I have whiskey and a barrel of water. I can accompany you to the market in the morning?" he offers by way of explanation.

"I fear that our entertainment will be water and whiskey then," I reply, and find glasses, determined to start the evening with water.

I notice the awkwardness as they decide the seating arrangement, Alexander taking the chair and I sit with John on the sofa.

"Right, well, here we are," Alexander says awkwardly, and the pair of them look to me, I suppose I deserve this given this was my idea.

I take in a breath. "I suppose it is my place to begin. Alexander, I'm sure you would like to know how all of this began between John and me."

"He told me you met in the gardens on the night of the winter's ball. I am now very interested to know what you talked about that night. It seems he confessed more than I would have expected to you, and I wonder why he did that, it was not just his secret," Alexander says, and John leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands going to his head, loosening his hair as he considers what to say. I rub my hand up and down his back, and lean toward him, whispering, "It's okay to tell my part in it. What drew us together."

He turns to smile at me and then sits back up, looking at Alexander. "I saw her leave the ball after introducing you to Eliza. She seemed upset, and given how well I know you I was curious as to why," he says and looks at me to continue, and I feel a flutter in my stomach, how he honors my voice.

"I was upset, we had just met and wanted to know more, your dark, intelligent eyes, handsome, and you know it, your confidence. When we spoke, I saw in you a match for my wit, and I wanted to know more, but I realized quickly that you were not my equal in society. That judgment ruined you for me, and I saw Eliza's interest in you, she swooned when she saw you walk in. Knowing my father would never approve of you for me, I knew that Eliza, given her role as second daughter would have more choice in her own marriage. I will admit when you told me I would never be satisfied…"

John takes over, "You're lucky she was so gracious to introduce you to Eliza. She was quite riled with you when I found her in the garden. I asked her why she was upset, and leave it to you and your words to lash someone. Your words hurt her, your mind attracted her, she fell as quickly and easily for you as I did, and we offered each other words of comfort that night, and in our letters. We wrote about you, and we teased each other in between, becoming friends, learning more and more about each other, and then came the night that we gave a toast to your marriage, and I saw how she steeled herself to give her speech as I introduced her following my own words."

I cut in. "We ended up in the garden again, and John brought up when I teased him and implied a proposal, and asked me if I would consider such a union. I'd already thrown away any chance I had with you Alexander, I would sacrifice anything for Eliza's happiness, and while we match in wit, I cannot hurt her in that way. I judged you prematurely and lost an opportunity at happiness, and having learned about John through our brief talks and our letters, I finally did the unexpected. We sent for Lafayette and married that morning. You know the rest, how we've found ourselves here."

Alexander nods, taking in everything we've told him. "So, your affections and love for me have brought you together? This will make you happy?"

"Does my sister make you happy?" I ask.

"Yes," he quickly answers. "She's wonderful, gentle, so caring. I could not ask for a better wife, she is the best of women."

"That is why I wanted us to meet tonight," I say, "I had an idea of John's love for you and he knew of my love for you. You know of his love and even return it, this I learned this morning. That you love him in return worries me, not because I worry for our happiness. I made my peace with this, knowing John's feelings in this. Eliza does not know this, and while she is strong, I do not want to see her hurt, this would break her heart. I am getting to know more about John, and I don't blame you for your love for him, I understand it. I just need to know if I can trust you with my sister's heart. She is strong enough to endure almost anything, but I do not wish to see her heartbreak."

"I promised myself to Eliza, and I intend to have a family with her. I don't want to hurt her either. John and I have had many conversations about this, that should we take wives that we would remain the best of friends, and would have this understanding between us. I will not do to Eliza what my father did to my mother," he says, and I know he means this with the utmost conviction.

John speaks up then, "That is what I have done with Angelica, Alex. I promised myself to her, and I want to start a family with her. I do not wish to be my father either. I love you, Alexander, and I always will, even still willing to die for you. We've always talked about how you move on, take a wife, and we would remain friends, and you would always have my love, and I would accept this for you, be happy for you. Is it too much for us to ask for the same grace from you? It hurts, but it grows less over time, an ache, pressing a reminder, but I want to remain your friend, now brother given our marriage to sisters."

"I owe you that at the very least, for everything you've done for me, John. This was unexpected and I'm sorry for my reaction. I don't want to lose you either," he looks and then says, "and my new dearest sister, sharp, witty, and well-matched for my John, I am just truly seeing you right now, and I meant no harm with what I said at the party, having newly gained a family I do not wish to lose it so suddenly, am I forgiven? Am I trusted?"

I take in a breath to reply, but John looks at me, and with a smirk says, "You know, he had a point that night. You cannot be satisfied, you have a need to know more, learn more, make a name for yourself, your ambition matches Alexander, and that may be part of my attraction to you."

"You agree with him," I say incredulously, and he grins as he responds, "That doesn't mean I would not do my best to please you, to attempt to see you satisfied."

I sigh in exasperation, and Alexander interrupts, "It seems that you are well-matched. I couldn't imagine my Laurens with anyone else, and then this morning I saw you and seeing how the two of you fought for each other with Mr. Schuyler, how well you complement each other now…" he trails, gets up and goes to the kitchen, pours a finger of whiskey, holds it up and continues, "A toast to the bride and to the groom, all of the best to a happy and long life together."

He downs the drink and I feel grateful tears rise to my eyes, acceptance, and then John surprises me when he says, "Thank you. We've won the best of women. I hope you are braced for the Schuyler fire, my friend."

Alexander looks at him in confusion, "What?"

John chuckles, "Angelica speaks her mind. I will have fair warning when she's angry with me. You are the one who married the quiet sister, I fear for you the moment when you discover that temper. The quiet women are usually the ones to be feared the most."

Alexander looks to me, to see whether or not I will confirm John's suspicions, I merely smile. He will learn for himself in time.

"Right, well, you have a wedding night to celebrate and I have a bride of my own to return to. Congratulations, and you both have my love and best of wishes. I couldn't have chosen better for either of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind, feed the muse, and leave reviews!


	14. Stay Alive

The letter reaches me at the camp, hopeful that it is from Angelica, I see the familiar handwriting, though not the handwriting of my wife. I brace myself for my father’s missive.

_John,_

_I am writing you to formally declare my displeasure with your most recent disgrace and to inform you that you are no longer of consequence to me. You have no place in my home, nor right to the Laurens’ legacy._

_You are nothing to me. I had heard tell of your exploits. While I am surprised you are married, I am not surprised that you have eloped. What an utter disgrace, you needed only concede to my will, but as always, your impulses have led to your ruin._

_You are dead to me. Your inheritance will be divided among my remaining children. You need not reply. Consider this my final letter to you._

_-Henry Laurens_

I’m not sure how long I sit, numbly reading through the letter, no sentimental endearments. I take in a shuddering breath and realize that this is the final missive, and I am cut out of his life for good, and sadly, more concerning this will mean I am cut out of the lives of my brothers and sisters. I imagine that by now I have been removed from his will. A numbness washes over me before it was merely his demands, his cursing me, but still, there was a chance, an offer of forgiveness if I only give in to his demands. Now there is no chance, and the family that I was born into is no longer mine to claim. I crumple the letter in my fist as I hear Alexander call out to me.

He approaches me, appears angry, but stops at my feet and looks down at me sitting on the ground leaning back against a tree, crumpled letter in my fist.

“Laurens,” I look up, and then he joins me, whatever has angered him set aside for now, as he sits next to me and says, “John, what is it? Is everything okay? Has something happened to Angelica? Eliza hasn’t mentioned anything…”

I give him the crumped letter, and he makes quick work of reading it. He looks up, sorrow in his gaze, a sorrow that mirrors my own.

“I’m sorry, John,” he says gently.

I shake my head. “He’s always threatened it, but now that it’s in writing I know he’s finally done it. I am completely cut off, disinherited. My dream to go down there, use my inheritance to emancipate the slaves my father has owned for so long, my hope to do something to make up for what happened to Samuel… It’s all for naught now. I just… I didn’t know it would hurt this much for him to formally disown and disclaim me. He’s stolen the opportunity to right the hurt that I caused and he’s taken my family from me. I’m an orphan now. I’m as good as an orphan now, Alex.”

He drops his arm across my shoulder and I move in for the comfort, and I feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest. “I’m so sorry. I know the feeling of abandonment. Just know that you always have me, we are family John, and our wives, and our friends. We don’t need to have bonds of blood to love like a family. I’m sorry he has taken this from you.”

“You know it has nothing to do with the money?” I ask, I need to know that he understands, I never would have kept anyone in bondage.

“I know, John, I have no doubt your intentions,” Alex says, and I nod, smile weakly, and pull back, recovering myself, burying the pain, wiping my eyes, flushing at the fact that the tears have indeed fallen.

“Distract me my dearest Alex. What has riled you up? I could sense your anger from across the camp before you even approached,” I say.

His gaze narrows and his nostrils flare as he recalls his apparent fury, and I fear the rage as he snarls, “Charles Lee.”

“Coward,” I snap and spit. Charles Lee is a disgrace. If we weren’t so short in men, a loss of a thousand good men can be attributed to the coward, he would be court-martialed I am sure of it.

“After Monmouth, he dares criticize Washington,” Alex continues.

“Oh,” I inquire, curiosity getting the better of me, wondering where Alexander is heading in his thinking.

Alex grows more incensed, “He says Washington cannot be trusted, that he’s indecisive, and the best thing he can do for the Revolution is to turn and go back to planting tobacco in Mount Vernon!”

“Strong words from Lee, given a thousand men were lost for his cowardice. Someone oughta hold him to it,” I suggest, Alexander’s anger contagious, and combining with my own anger from my father’s letter.

“I can’t disobey direct orders,” Alex replies in frustration.

I take in a sharp breath. I need an outlet for my anger, and this will protect Alexander, his life, and his future career. “Then, I’ll do it. Alexander, you’re the closest friend I’ve got, family, we’re brothers, more. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, but you are destined to make history.”

In hindsight, it is a damn stupid thing to do, impulsive, stupid, and I do it for all of the wrong reasons, I challenge Charles Lee to a duel, Alexander my second, Aaron Burr is Lee’s second.

I do not hesitate in the moment and Lee is as much a shit-shot as he is a coward. I get him in the side. Washington rides onto the field, orders Burr to get a medic for Lee, dismisses Lee from his service, and orders Alexander to his tent.

An hour later Alexander walks out, anger, disappointment, and frustration on his face. “He sent me home.”

I grasp his shoulder, “For how long I ask?”

“He said he would send for me when he needed me again. I took as much of the blame away from you as I could. This was my fight and you fought it for me. I’m sorry. He wants to see you next.”

“I bet he does. I would fight any of your fights. I made a promise to myself; I would give my life for yours. You know this Alex. I grew up in a dueling society, you didn’t. I was the one with the advantage. Wait for me, make sure Prospero is ready for me. I won’t let this take long.”

I walk into the tent, Washington is sitting at his desk, looking wearier than he ever has. I take a deep breath and say, “Sir, you sent for me.”

“As you knew I would. Hamilton’s passion and loyalty are a double-edged sword, and you are usually the one to calm him, to level his head. You’ve always worked hard to keep him from acting rashly, in spite of your reputation for impulse, you have always instilled patience in him. I know it was his influence that caused you to challenge General Lee. What happened Laurens?”

I swallow thickly, and then meet his gaze; see the concern he harbors for Alexander. “It was the best way to keep him safe. He could have done worse, now it’s over, done. No one died per se. Am I being relieved of my duty for this, sir?”

Washington shakes his head. “No, not relieved. When I send for Hamilton to return, I will need you to keep him focused on our cause. You’re a damn good soldier son, your loyalty to Hamilton is unparalleled. Go home, that’s an order, expect at least a fortnight’s leave, maybe as long as a month, but I will call for your return. I have one condition Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Sir?”

“No more duels. Thank you, now go, you have a wife to see as well, and I know he’s waiting on you before he departs, the pair of you can leave together. Take time to regain your head, remember your patriotism. I’ll send for you when the time is right. Go son, go home.”

I do as ordered, I find Alex with his horse and mine, saddled and ready to ride. He looks at me in concern as we mount, and asks, “What did he say?”

I chuckle, “He ordered me to go home with you. He says he will send for us in a fortnight, months’ time at most. He complimented my service and said I should do better to persuade you against rash action, and I am looking forward to seeing Angelica again, as I’m sure are your sentiments with Eliza?”

“It will be good to see Eliza again. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks,” he says, and I chuckle, already knowing this to be true, given how he seeks out the courier daily.

“At least Angelica keeps us updated,” I respond with a grin, and with a nod in his direction, we put the horses to a gallop, eager to be home.


	15. Domesticity

I am just finishing hanging the laundry when I hear a rider, perhaps a carrier with a letter. Then I hear him call my name, and I let out a sigh of relief, my John is home. Everything has been different since Monmouth, the risk that he and Alexander take in their part in our fight for freedom more evident.

I turn as he rushes toward me and embraces me, spinning us until we land in the basket of laundry. I want to scold him, but instead, I laugh, just happy that he is here, safe, unharmed. I don’t question this leave and his being home, not yet, I just enjoy it, and I hope that Eliza knows this joy soon, especially given… I frown briefly, and he notices.

“Angelica, is everything well?” he asks, pushing my hair from my face and realizing that the laundry is still wet and he is dirty from his ride.

“I’ll help you with this given I am the reason it’s dirty again,” he says sheepishly, and then raises his brows inquiring, his previous question unforgotten.

“It’s Eliza actually. I’ll question your leave later. Just tell me, has he taken leave as well? It’s been a month since she wrote Washington. I must admit I was about to do the same.”

“Eliza…” the concern in his face raising the warmth of my affections for him.

“Is Alexander heading home or is he still back at the camp?” I ask again.

“He’s on his way home. We parted at the town square. What’s wrong, how is Eliza?”

I fret my bottom lip and he lifts my chin gently so that our eyes meet. “She is expecting. Our Alexander is to be a father and our dear sister a mother.”

“Expecting? A child? Alexander will be overjoyed. How is her health, is her condition moderate, tolerable?” he asks, and I am curious at his knowledge in such matters and recognizing my expression he clarifies. “I am the second eldest of five children. My mother became very ill with my youngest brother and sister, Jem and Polly were a joy to welcome, but carrying them weakened my mother’s health considerably.”

I embrace him, seeing the pain at recalling the memories. “She is well, just worried for Alexander. I tried to keep the papers from her, but Eliza has quite a stubborn streak. She read about Monmouth, and her worry grew. She wrote so many letters, all to General Washington, begging him to send Alex home.”

“The worry is not good for her, but he will be home to her soon, within the hour,” he says, and I see a shadowed look pass across his handsome face.

“How long do you have?” I ask.

“Two weeks, maybe more. Washington ordered us home in anger. We are still his best, but… Well, it was also to give us time to consider our actions and for the talk in the camp to wear down.”

“What happened?” I asked. He tries to delay his response for as long as possible, getting to our feet, we leave the newly soiled laundry and go inside.

He looks around the house, takes in the curtains I’ve hung, and smiles at the evidence of my presence in our home, the wildflowers in the small vase catching his eye for a moment and making him chuckle.

“I never realized how welcomed a woman’s presence could be in a home, did not think I would ever know the experience,” he says quietly.

I can tell something is on his mind and I find it in myself to be patient. He gathers two cups, pouring water for us, and lifts his nose to the air, nodding at the smells coming from the oven. I move around him and check the bread and the blackberry cobbler, the embers slowly and evenly baking both. I carefully remove them from the oven, still waiting.

He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa as we wait for the food to cool.

“Smells delicious. What is the occasion for the cobbler?” he asks.

“I was going to bring it to Eliza this afternoon,” I reply. “Now, are you going to tell me why Washington ordered you to return home? It was not just the news of Eliza, what actions led to the order?”

His hands tighten to fists and then he lets out a deep breath and says, “Alexander was so angry about Monmouth, we all were, and that damn coward Lee kept poor-mouthing Washington, and you know Alex’s admiration for Washington. He couldn’t disobey orders. Knowing Alex’s temperament and stubbornness, I knew he wouldn’t let it go. I grew up under the code of honor, and so I took it upon myself to challenge Lee to a duel. He survived, I shot him in the side. Washington rode up, dismissed Lee, then called us to his tent. Alexander took the brunt of the blame and we were ordered home. Washington told me he expected better of me, that I am Alexander’s voice of reason, that it would do no good if I’m lost.”

I’m trembling at his confession, realizing how close I’ve come to losing him, over something so foolish. He tries to wrap his arms around me, but I pull away and get to my feet, begin to pace. The anger a fire, and finally stop and glare at him before I approach him and strike him in my ire. He raises his hand to his face, shock, and hurt in his expression as he looks at me.

“How dare you!” I accuse. “I have accepted your love and willingness to die for Alexander, but you have no right to wager your life for his with nothing more than pride on the line, and who’s pride? They were sullying Washington’s name yes, but was your honor or Alexander’s brought into question before you challenged and shot the man?”

My hand stings and I look at my hand in shock, I cannot believe what I’ve done, but the thought of losing him over something as stupid as Alexander’s ego is too much. He rises and his arms go around me and he pulls me close. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he is wiping away the tears, and kisses me.

“I deserved that, that and more, my dearest, compassionate Angelica. I’m sorry. I should have done more to change his mind, to make him see reason. Usually, he is a reasonable man, but his temper.”

“His temper and your loyalty to him are dangerous when you give in to impulse rather than do what is best for you both and remind him of his reason,” I manage, my voice overcome with my emotions.

He kisses me and when we part, I see the mark on his face. He grins and shakes his head. “I may have to teach you how to fight. You have a strong hand, and it would make for a stronger fist. If I do decide to, save that strength and skill for Alexander please.”

“As most of the trouble you find yourself in is his doing, consider that condition met,” I snort, and cup his red cheek gently.

“The hurt isn’t much,” he says, “So will we be taking the cobbler to Eliza this afternoon?”

I shake my head. “I will make her another tomorrow, she will be suitably occupied with her husband I imagine, and I wish to spend time with mine as well.”

“So, does that mean this cobbler is ours?” he asks hopefully.

I laugh. “Yes, this one is ours.”

He nods, pleased, and then says, “I’ll help you make another in the morning. Is it cool enough to eat? We’ve ridden for three days straight, nothing but stale bread for provisions. I would eat anything at this point. You know we had to slaughter several horses for provisions.”

My eyes widen at this, “You’ve eaten your horses?”

“I fought to spare Prospero, but I think I will look into buying a new horse to ride back. I do not want to wager the men’s hunger over my dedication to Prospero. Perhaps get a side saddle for you, he trusts you.”

“A side saddle is an unnecessary expense, twice the cost of a regular saddle. I can make do without one,” I say, and then, “I’ve actually retrieved my things from father’s. I added my wardrobe to our room. I sold my bustles for a fair amount. My hope chest is at the end of our bed. I have kept a few of my corsets, sold some of my more extravagant clothes. I’ve managed to collect a nice savings.”

“I’m glad you retrieved your things, but you didn’t need to sell anything,” he says.

I roll my eyes, “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable a bustle is? It was no real loss in the end, and it gives us money to fall back on and live in comfort. I’ve received the salary you’ve sent home as well. Most of it I save. I only buy what is needed for our home. It’s peaceful living modestly. I don’t mind it at all John. I will admit, I have indulged in the purchase of a few books, and I receive the paper.”

“I’m sorry this isn’t the life you are used to,” he says, and I smile, “It is different, but I like it, caring for a small home is nice for contemplation. I’ve been writing as well, more than just our letters. It’s also good having you home for now.”

He nods, and then runs a hand through his hair, loosening the curls from the tie. He has something on his mind. “Angelica, I’ve been officially disowned and disinherited by my father.”

“We will be fine. We manage well enough,” I say in reassurance, and he allows himself to fall back onto the sofa, reaches for my hand, and pulls me down to him.

“There is more to this than money. Even if I had been given my inheritance, I would have gained no money from it. My inheritance was to be paid in slaves, per my mother’s wishes. I had planned to emancipate them. I want no money from the labor of fellow human beings. There is no good in it.”

I’ve read his essays on abolition and emancipation of slaves in the South, I know his passions and support it. I place my hand on his chest, over his heart, savoring the beat. “You are a good man, with a beautiful heart. All the love you have for Alex, your friends, your passions for independence, and abolition of slavery.”

“And my love for you,” he whispers, and my breath catches. We have teased each other, shared a marriage bed, have become close friends in our relationship, but this is the first declaration of love shared between us.

“I love you as well, you infuriating man,” I whisper back.

He grins at this, gets us to our feet, and approaches our bedroom, “Then the cobbler can continue to cool. I have a wife to satisfy.”

My heart flutters at the lust and love in his gaze.

He surprises me as he takes his time in undressing me, and removing his own clothes, every touch and caress followed by his soft lips…

I wake up, and it feels late in the evening. I am careful to keep my eyes closed as John traces his fingers along my side, my breath quickens giving me away. He chuckles and I open my eyes with a smile. “How was your rest?”

I let out a moan as I stretch, and his grin becomes feral. “It was good, and our excursions that led to that rest were wonderful.”

“It pleases me to see my wife satisfied, are you satisfied my dearest Angelica,” he asks earnestly.

I take in a deep breath, considering my feelings, my comfort, and him. “Yes, I am satisfied, my dear, irksome, John.”

His stomach rumbles in response, and I laugh, “It seems I have yet to satisfy your appetite.”

He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and says, “My appetite is duly satisfied, I’m just really hungry.”

I begin to rise, saying, “I have cheese to go with the bread, and of course the cobbler.”

He pulls me back and wraps his arms around me, his lips brushing mine, and he says, “That sounds good, but I…”

“What?” I ask curiously.

He takes in a breath. “I’ve been awake for a while, watching you sleep, and thinking. Alexander is growing a family. He will have a child soon, a son or a daughter. He is going to be a father… I…”

“John?”

“You’re strong, independent, fierce, and intelligent. We are in a war, and you have enough to worry about as it is, let alone worrying about me returning home to you… but…”

My breath catches as the realization strikes me, and reply, “I have seen my sister every day, watched her fret and worry, and seen the love and serenity that overtook her when she discovered she would be a mother.”

He nods, watching me closely, and his eyes urge me to continue. “I will admit I had reservations in talking about this, but I realize that you love me, John, that we have in our marriage more than shared sorrow, understanding, and friendship. We have love, and we could bring a child into that love if it is agreeable to you. I know the risks, I know that with this war there is the chance of losing you, but a child would leave a piece of you with me, would give you a reason to stay safe and to fight not only for the Revolution but to come home to us. Given what I know of you, what I’ve learned since marrying you, you would make a good father.”

His lips meet mine tenderly, and he leans his forehead to mine. I’m surprised by the tears trailing his cheeks. I take his face between my hands and kiss his cheeks and meet his lips again. As we part, he whispers thank you, and then rudely his stomach interjects in another bid for sustenance.

I laugh, “If it is agreeable, then we can work towards the end of creating a child, but I think first I must see my husband’s belly full first. Come on let’s get up and eat. I’m hungry myself.”

We get up and he fixes us cups of water and plates the cobbler as I retrieve the cheese to serve with the bread. Our meal is a quiet one, a comfortable quiet, with shared smiles. As we finish eating, he takes the dishes and before I protest, he shakes his head and I watch as he puts them in the sink, retrieves water from the barrel, and cleans them. I get up, drying and putting them away. He smiles at me and says, “I am a man of my word, I promised you equity, declared it to your father. You are as much mine as I am yours, and we share in the responsibilities of our life together.”

That he continues to reaffirm this makes my stomach flutter in admiration. “And yet rumors persist that I chose unwisely,” I say, and then smile. “However hasty we decided, I think this is the best act of rebellion I’ve ever chosen.”

“I could see you as the rebellious sister,” he says thoughtfully.

I roll my eyes in playful exasperation. “You enjoy my willfulness and wit,” I remind him.

He nods, his hands find my waist and he grins. “Yes, I do,” he replies, and then asks, “How bad are the rumors of scandal?”

“Eliza bears it more than I. She socializes with the other married ladies of society. I keep to myself and avoid such matters, a bunch of envious gossips. Eliza plays Alexander’s dutiful wife to assure the rise of his ambition, and she defends me where she can. They delight in her and ask after me when I will have a child as a result of our hasty marriage. They were quite surprised to discover that I am not yet a mother-to-be.”

“Gossips indeed,” he snorts.

I then let out a sigh and continue. “It does not help that I have visited the tavern several times in your absence, asking for news of you. I’ve made several friends, including Hercules Mulligan. He has reminded many a leering soldier of my dear husband’s rank. He is a good man, though when he drinks is far too eager to disclose his admiration of several ladies.”

“That’s just Herc being Herc,” he says, his rich laughter following.

I worry my lip, a habit that catches his attention every time I do it. “Something on your mind, Angelica?”

“You don’t mind that I seek the friendship of men rather than women?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We are always honest with each other. Do I have reason to worry?”

I shake my head. “No. I just have so little in common with the women of society. Eliza has the patience to endure them, a patience I do not have. I think too freely, speak too freely to ever be accepted by them, but there are times that when I speak among men, though surprised by my wit and ideas they listen to me, accept my reasoning. I am yours, John, yours alone. I just yearn to speak my mind among those who would listen, who match wits with me.”

“Lafayette has shared some of your correspondence with me, and I have no issue with it, am glad you find friends among my own. You are independent, and given our honesty, you have my fealty and my trust. I trust in your judgment. Should anyone call into question your honor any more than the gossip involving the haste of our marriage we can face it together.”

“You are singularly the strangest man I’ve ever met,” I say in amazement.

“I saw what the overbearance of a husband did to my mother. I will not be my father. We are husband and wife, lovers, and friends. We talk freely, and I feel that our respect for each other is enough to carry us through anything. You know me, while I can be rash and impulsive, I am not quick to anger, Alexander is the one that has that flaw.”

“He is the only reason you would anger,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Really woman?” he bursts. “Do you not remember, that in spite of my fear, I faced down your father after we returned to confess our marriage. I would be quick to anger over you, stand for you, and defend you.”

“Woman? Really?” My eyes narrowing a little in annoyance.

“My woman, the best of women,” he says and pulls me into an embrace and leads us back to our room, tickling me along the way much to my ire and amusement.


	16. What a Time to Be Alive Right now

Her laughter fills me with warmth, makes the mess I am making of myself worth it. She makes this look easy, how she mixed and kneaded the dough for fresh bread, stoked the fire in the stove down to embers warm enough bake, but not so hot to burn, meanwhile I struggle with the cobbler, even under her advice and instruction.

“You’re wearing more flour than the recipe calls for, John,” she manages, her laughter renewed as I blow back a curl that has fallen loose to land in my face, white from the flour. “And quit sneaking the berries. This is for Eliza.”

“They’re so good though,” I whine, popping another berry defiantly into my mouth.

“And my sister carries our future niece or nephew,” she admonishes me, and I sigh.

“Considering this is Alexander’s first, I imagine it will be boy,” I say, and she chuckles her agreement, and then pauses.

“What do you think we would have first?” she asks.

I take in a sharp breath at the thought as she finishes rolling the topping for the cobbler, a task I have failed abysmally. I watch as she re-kneads the dough to roll it out.

“I think a girl to share her mother’s beauty would please me,” I respond quietly, and then add, “a girl of sharp wit, raised to be as strong, independent, and outspoken as her mother.”

She finishes the cobbler, puts it into the oven, and turns to me, a smile on her face as she pushes back my floured hair, and wipes away even more flour from my cheeks.

“Go clean up, you’re covered in flour, John,” she says softly, her dark eyes filled with tears, and I lift her face to mine, kiss her softly and ask what’s wrong.

She chuckles. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just so pleased that you would choose a girl to raise so independently.”

“She will be as educated as any man and will have every opportunity I could provide for her,” I promise.

“I will hold you to that,” she replies, and I laugh.

“I expect you to.”

She kisses me and then urges me again to clean up. I go to the washbasin in our room, amused at the mess I’ve made of myself. I clean up and change clothes quickly, retie my hair and join my wife on the sofa, careful not to disturb her, and I take notice of the book in her hand, a collection of Shakespeare, I wonder if it is a drama or a book of his sonnets. 

She peers over the top of it, a small smile on her face and I smirk, “Reading sonnets, are we?”

She rolls her eyes, “Actually I’m approaching the end of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. I always enjoy Puck’s soliloquy at the end, equal parts playful and sobering.”

I am impressed, though not surprised, and nod. “Well, there is one good thing salvaged from the British. As for our plan for the afternoon, how much time do we have?”

“An hour, certainly no longer. We will leave the bread out to cool for later, perhaps stop by the tavern this evening for supper if Eliza does not request us to join them. I can wrap the dish of cobbler in a cloth and it can cool on the way to my father’s house.”

“That sounds fair enough. Do I need to arrange for a carriage?”

She shakes her head, “I sent a carrier with word that we would need one in an hour while you were cleaning up.”

“Do I look presentable enough?” I ask with a smirk.

“Quite handsome, though I admit I miss the flour in your hair already,” she replies and returns her attention to her book.

I take a seat on the sofa and pull her legs across my lap, which seems to please her, and then I ask, “Read to me?”

She lifts her gaze to me and asks, “What would you have me read to you, Mr. Laurens?”

“I trust your judgment, Mrs. Laurens,” I answer.

She nods, turns several pages, and then begins, “Enter Orsino, Curio, and other lords; Musicians playing…”

She reads beautifully, our children will enjoy her reading to them, of which I’m certain given how she’s entertained me in her reading, I know she will enjoy reading to them as well. She pauses in her reading every now and then, checking my interest, checking on the bread and cobbler. By the time she reaches the first scene of Act II, the hour has passed.

“We will save the rest for later,” she says, closing the book.

“I look forward to it,” I say as I get up and offer my hand to her and pull her up and into my arms. I am not one to risk temptations, our lips meet, the fire lighting, but we have places to be.

She makes short work in pulling the bread and cobbler from the oven, wrapping the cobbler in cloth as the carriage, one of her father’s, arrives. I take in a deep breath, feeling slight apprehension. I have not been back to her father’s house since the impromptu confession of our marriage.

She chuckles, raises her right brow in challenge, and says, “We are going to visit Eliza and Alexander, not to confront my father. Given his dislike of you and ongoing displeasure with me, he will either retreat to his study or take his leave of the house for the afternoon.”

I hope my relief isn’t too evident. She hands me the cloth wrapped cobbler and I follow her out of the door. She sees to locking the door and we find ourselves in the carriage. She watches me in amusement as I continue to fidget the entire ride. Encountering her father, the one time was more than enough for me.

Upon arriving we are let into the house by the butler, and Peggy rushes up and says, “Angelica, and uhm…”

I grin at her blush and say, “John.”

“Right,” she responds shyly, her cheeks flushed from her energy and embarrassment, and then in her cheekiness continues, “So, Eliza is expecting, when will Angelica make me an aunt two-fold?”

Angelica shoots her little sister a glare and I chuckle. “Don’t worry Peggy, we have been working to that end.”

I stiffen at the sound of a throat clearing, a throat that is not Alexander’s. Damn it.

I turn, forcing a smile and trying to recover from what was obviously overheard. “Mr. Schuyler, my pleasure, sir.”

He looks at me with a face full of contempt and says, “Not mine, Mr. Laurens.”

He gives a nod to Angelica and to Peggy, takes up his coat and cane from the butler, and takes his leave of the house.

“At least he is talking to you,” Angelica says, placing her hand over my heart. Peggy outright laughs as I roll my eyes.

“That’s what that was?” I snort in amusement and Angelica swats my shoulder.

“Woman, remember yourself, I am carrying your sister’s cobbler,” I reply.

Peggy’s eyes widen, and Angelica’s eyes narrow. “You’re lucky that cobbler is in your hands right now.”

“The best of wives and women,” I respond cheekily but believe I will be made to pay for that statement later.

Peggy leads us to the parlor where Eliza and Alexander are waiting, Alexander vibrating with nervous energy. They look up and I place the cobbler on the table by the sofa where Eliza sits.

She perks up at the smell of it and says, “Oh, Angelica, your blackberry cobbler is always the best.”

Angelica snorts and says, “Well, dear sister, I am sorry to disappoint. I did not make the cobbler this time.”

“Oh,” Eliza looks up in confusion, and then her eyes widen as she looks to me. “You made the cobbler?”

I reach for the back of my neck, a little embarrassed as Alexander halts mid-pace to stare at me in stunned silence.

“Well I am the reason we ate the cobbler that was meant for you yesterday, I only thought it fitting I not burden Angelica with the duty of making the replacement. I made it under her careful advisement, and I’m usually good at following orders.”

“Well, it smells wonderful. We’ll have some shortly,” she says, her smile kind.

I kiss Angelica’s cheek, “I’ll leave you with your sister. Seems Alexander is in need of my company. We’ll take a walk in the garden and be back in a short while.”

She nods in understanding, given Alexander’s state of fidgeting. I walk toward him, clap him on the back and lead him to the garden, familiar with the way to get there.

Once we are out in the garden he bursts, “John! Eliza, she’s expecting! I’m… I’m going to be a father, a father!”

I chuckle. “I know, Angelica told me yesterday when I returned. Congratulations.”

“It’s real, her belly already has a slight swell… I… I don’t know if I’m ready. I can’t be like my father. I can’t do that to Eliza or this baby.”

I pull him into an embrace, knowing he needs the comfort. “I’ve never met your father, but I know that you are a far better man than he was. I doubt any man is entirely ready to be a father, but when the baby arrives you will be here, you will love that child, create the family you’ve always wanted, be the father you wish you’d had.”

He squeezes me back hard, pulls back, and breathes in heavily, nodding, trying to convince himself. “Right… You’re right, I won’t be like him. I… I hope it’s a son, a boy to give a legacy too, to carry my name further than I can.” 

“You will make a worthy legacy for him, the part you will play in establishing this country once we’ve won our freedom, I have no doubt your child will carry on your greatness,” I reassure him.

He nods firmly, calmer, still filled with his energy, but more at ease. “What about you? Baking, sharing household responsibilities? How very domestic of you…”

I chuckle. “I vowed equity to my household when I married Angelica. It pleases her, and keeps our home peaceful so that when we do quarrel, typically over politics and our views, we can find peace swiftly from the shared domesticity in our household.”

“Have you spoken of starting a family with Angelica yet?”

I smile, “Yes, actually. We spoke of it yesterday after she told me the news about Eliza.”

“And?” he encourages.

“We are working on it,” I reply, a grin shared between us, and while the ache is there he nods, and I appreciate his understanding, his acceptance. 

“Our children will be cousins, we’ll grow our family together,” he says, and then he looks at me earnestly. “We have to win this war, and when we do, we will be fathers, and I will need help in building this country, addressing internal injustice…”

I look up in interest. “What are you proposing?”

“That we take care, that we both survive this war, and that you be by my side professionally, help me work with Washington to build up our nation, fight for the rights of all. There is so much that will need to get done. You’re an intelligent man. I know what your father has taken from you, the chance to emancipate so many slaves, but we can find another way as we work on a constitution, creating laws to live by. Imagine a government created by we the people for the commonwealth of all. Would you stand with me in this? Together we could create a legacy for our children, imagine our names, Hamilton and Laurens, commanding respect and our children bearing that legacy, being better than we could ever hope to be, accomplishing so much?”

His vision for the future is intoxicating, providing such a legacy to our children would be our greatest accomplishment, something we can do together, our passions uniting in our work, and he wants to me be a part of this vision.

“Yes,” I respond eagerly. “Together we can do this.”

We clasp each other’s shoulder as we shake hands, an oath between us. We share a smile of ambition, and I can tell that mind is already at work, making plans, scheming, thinking of future hustles. He pauses in his thinking, “What do you hope for first? A son, a daughter?”

I grin. “A girl to carry her mother’s passion and wit, just as capable and as educated as any man. I’ll do all in my power to see her as more than a socialite, a submissive debutante.”

“A woman to defy the social norms of high society?” he says, considering the possibility as we continue to stroll through the garden.

I playfully bump his shoulder. “If an immigrant and disgraced, disinherited wretch can aspire to and achieve greatness, what could possibly hold back the daughter of Angelica Schuyler Laurens?”

Alexander nods, “Given her fire and what I’ve heard from Eliza of Angelica’s latest friends and acquaintances, she is as destined for greatness as my son will be.”

I grin, “Well, I shall see to her conception before declaring her destiny, but yes, our children will change the world even more than we will. They will blow us all away.”

“Speaking of children,” Alex says, mischief peppering his tone, not unlike when he wants to share gossip, “I have heard that Burr’s lover, the one married to the British officer, is expecting as well. Last I heard her husband has been in Georgia for months.”

“Oh shit,” I reply, my eyes wide and then I laugh. “And to think on my wedding day he insulted my wife over the scandal of our union. Hypocrite.”

“Right? What does he even stand for? Until we know with any certainty can we even decry his hypocrisy?” Alexander says, his eyes glinting with amusement as his laughter joins mine.

We’re in good spirits as we return to the parlor, surprised by the presence of Mr. Schuyler having joined his daughters there. I gulp, my good spirits falling, and Alexander gives my shoulder a squeeze before moving to take his place by Eliza’s side. I wrinkle my nose at him in disapproval, thought given Philip Schuyler’s distaste of me, I can forgive Alexander his abandonment, after all, someone has to be Daddy Schuyler’s favorite son, and that certainly will not be me.

They’ve already served the cobbler, two plates set aside, I assume for Alexander and me. I am amused at it appears that Schuyler seems to be enjoying his portion.

“Angelica, your skills in making cobbler are unparalleled,” he compliments her.

Alex chokes on his first bite, and the sisters are amused as Angelica replies, “Actually, you should thank my husband, Daddy. He’s the one that made this.”

It is Philip Schuyler’s turn to choke as I take a bite from the plate set aside for me. I’m amused, and after I swallow respond, “All under your daughter’s tutelage, of course, sir.”

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat. “It is an acceptable treat. Though it seems the baby has given Eliza quite the sweet tooth.”

“So, you’re excited to be a grandfather?” I ask casually, and I wince as Angelica’s eyes narrow.

“Of course, children are a promise of our future, it’s why we are at war for our freedom, to make a better world for them. We do our best, to accept our children, even when they are at fault of making ruinous decisions,” he replies.

I can hear the “Damn…” that slips unchecked from Alex’s mouth, and I press my tongue to my cheek, but having known Alexander for so long, his outspokenness influences my tongue.

“Well, I can assure that my children will have a legacy, a place of respect in the world. My daughters will be independent, free-thinking, a force to be reckoned with, and my sons will make their mark as well. This legacy will reflect on my efforts and Angelica’s efforts equally. They will witness our union, the equity in our household. I am a man of my word.”

My reluctant father-in-law turns sharp eyes to Angelica. “Am I to believe that you are expecting as well?”

Heat rises to Angelica’s cheeks as she shoots me a glare, and from a tight smile answers, “No, Daddy, but we are considering starting a family soon.”

He nods, and shifts his sharp gaze at me, “I would wish you sons rather than daughters. Willful daughters are their father’s heartbreak.”

“My heart is strong enough to bear it,” I reply, and he nods, finishing his cobbler up, engaging in conversation with his daughters and Alexander, pointedly ignoring me as I take a seat by Angelica, and she shifts close against me as I set my finished plate on the table. Drinks are served next, water for Eliza, mimosas for Angelica and Peggy, and two fingers of whiskey for Schuyler, Alex, and me.

In hindsight, when another round of whiskey is sent for, I should have exercised caution…


	17. Live to See the Glory

I groan as consciousness creeps in, the ache in my head glorious, my body weak and damp from a cold sweat. It doesn’t take long to realize that I am alone. Shit. It also tastes like something died in my mouth, and I gag a little. As I sit up, hand to my aching head, I notice the cup of water on the bedside table. Hm… maybe there is a chance that my wife still loves me.

I belch and slowly recall yesterday; I hope it was yesterday… The parlor, walking with Alexander in the garden, talking about building a family, the cobbler, Philip Schuyler, the whiskey, oh God the whiskey. My stomach lurches and groans, roiling but apparently empty. Shit…

At the sound of the bedroom door opening I turn too quickly, the world tilts a little as my wife enters, a hand on her hips. Hmmm… This might not be good.

“Time is it?” I ask, my voice raspy, so much whiskey.

I reach for the cup, aware enough to know anything more than short, slow sips will be a bad idea, and put the cup back on the table.

“Early afternoon,” she says evenly.

I nod and wince, too fast, I have to be careful, slow movements.

“So, um, yesterday? Um… did we eat? What did we eat?” I ask, trying to work out what has contributed to the lingering taste in my mouth.

“Yes, we stayed for dinner, roasted chicken and potatoes.”

“Oh that sounds nice,” I reply.

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “It was, and then you went shot for shot in a drinking contest with my father. Alexander had enough sense to determine a limit and stopped long before the two of you.”

I wince. “Who won?”

“I can’t with you right now,” she says shaking her head. “It ended with my father losing his dinner first, and then Alexander helped me get you into the carriage and then helped me get you inside before returning to Eliza. Not long after being home you lost your dinner, several times I might add. I’ve had to empty and clean the chamber pot four times over the course of the night.”

“So, he lost it first?” I ask, just to clarify.

“Yes,” she snaps. “Why does that even matter?”

I chuckle, the ache surges in my head, but I give her the biggest grin as I say, “Well, I won.”

She rolls her dark eyes so hard it makes me dizzier than I already am. “When you can manage to get dressed you can find me at the tavern, I promised to bring Hercules some bread and stew for lunch today, thinking that you would be joining me to visit your friend, he mentioned a special room in the back of the shop.”

By the time I catch up to her we are approaching the tavern. “Need I even warn you against drinking while we wait for the stew?”

I carefully shake my head. We wait for the stew, a barmaid ladles it into a large jar that Angelica adds to her basket. I then obediently follow my wife to the back of the tailor shop. She gives a special knock and Hercules sneaks us into the hidden room in the back of the shop.

Once settled in the back, Angelica retrieves the bowls and bread from her basket, and then pours the stew. I decline the stew, decide that bread would be the safest thing to attempt to eat. Hercules brings us water in three beat up tankards.

I can feel his fatherly gaze on me and sigh, waiting.

“So, long night?” he asks, and I just cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them.

“Oh, this damn fool decided to go shot for shot with my father in a drinking game last night. Even Hamilton had the sense to bow out!”

Mulligan chuckles, and nudges me, eliciting a groan from me. “Well, who won?”

“I did,” I grumble.

“Well done, Laurens, trained you well to handle your drink.”

“You cannot be serious right now,” Angelica says and I can practically hear her eyes rolling.

“It’s a point of pride, my dear, compassionate Angelica,” I moan.

“Oh, don’t you dear, compassionate Angelica me. You made a damn fool out of yourself and my father has probably died from alcohol poisoning.”

“Not that lucky,” I grumble, and I wince at the smack to my shoulder, she does not hold back in the least.

Mulligan gets a good laugh at my expense.

I regain my senses, the pain lessens, and I enjoy the company of my wife and my friend. The subject of Burr is brought up and Mulligan tells Angelica what I’ve already heard from Alex.

She snorts with a laugh and says, “Well, leave it to Aaron Burr to outdo our little scandal.”

She sends me a smirk and grasps my hand. I perk up at this, a hopeful smile on my face. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Getting there my dearest consternation,” she replies sweetly.

“Sounds like you owe her forgiveness, might need to get on your knees and beg,” Mulligan says, a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows earns him a swat to his shoulder from my wife, and I smirk as he jumps and rubs his shoulder.

“Hey, I was doing you a favor,” he says, looking at her dejectedly.

“Excuse me,” she says, her eyes narrowed down, and he looks at me for help.

I shake my head. “Nope, I want harmony in my home tonight, and I’m toeing a fine line seeing as how I bested her daddy by out drinking him. She doesn’t hold back, and I’m working on getting on her good side.”

“Might be a good idea, with an arm like that, her good side sounds like the best side you can be on,” he says sullenly, still rubbing his arm.

We depart and head home, her arm in mine, and I take the basket from her. She leans her head against my shoulder and I can’t help myself as I say, “I like sharing friends with you.”

“I like being treated as an equal among them. They talk to me, not over me, and listen to me,” she says.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, they recognize that, and they respect you for far more than just being my wife,” I reply.

She seems far off in thought and so I ask, “What are you thinking about?”

Her mouth pulls into a smirk, and I begin to worry as she responds, “Maybe Hercules had a point about your begging for my forgiveness.”

“Oh?” I reply, the fire coiling in my belly and I will admit my pace speeds up and I am impressed that she keeps up. I aim to please, and if a little begging is the trick, who am I to deny her such satisfaction?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: Historical liberties were taken throughout this chapter.

I get three weeks at home with my wife before a courier arrives at my door with orders from Washington to report to camp just outside of Yorktown. Angelica embraces me long and hard and kisses me. I mount my new horse, a sturdy brown mare, and ride to the Schuyler mansion. I find Alexander in the stable, securing his saddlebags, and once he’s mounted on his horse we ride out. The ride is fast, there is a sense of shared urgency between us.

The moment for the Revolution has come.

Our plan is coming together, Lafayette manages to turn the battle in our favor, and Washington finally gives Alexander a command post, rather than take command I join Alex’s regimen, someone needs to watch out for him, and Washington agrees to my request, whether for my influence over Alexander’s temperament or the fact that he knows I will keep Alexander safe for Eliza.

We get our orders, Yorktown, 1781. I attend the meetings, acting second to Alexander, I watch as he takes command giving his orders in French and English, and he shines, a born leader, something I always knew, and I’m proud to see it in action.

He gives us the code word that will ignite the battle, “Rochambeau!”

It is a week-long battle, the British cut off by Lafayette and the French fleet, their supplies dwindling as we continue our fight, bullets blazing, cannons firing, men charging.

There is smoke, men falling, wounded and dying everywhere, blood spills, so much red. I stay by Alex’s side, a couple of close calls, dragging him from a trench, him leading me, and me guarding him. I will see him safely home, and I will keep my unspoken promise to my wife… Stay alive.

Mulligan’s spying pays off, we cut the British off at every corner. The flag of surrender, a white handkerchief, is frantically waved by a young man, barely out of boyhood, and just like that the fight is over.

We spend days tending to our wounded, counting our dead, and all the while Washington and Alexander negotiate the terms of surrender. Once an agreement is made the British are escorted out of Yorktown and to their ships, their shoulders hang in defeat as they load up and set sail on their return to ye merry ol’ England.

The streets fill with Americans, yes Americans, in celebration of our victory, our independence. It’s a lot to take in. So much fighting, and now something to celebrate.

I stay be Alexander’s side as he drafts the beginnings of our nation, Washington takes charge. We see Lafayette off as he makes his way back home to liberate his own country. When enough has been done to establish a foundation, Washington takes us aside, congratulates us for our work in the field, and gives us an order to return home, to celebrate our victory, to look to our wives, to recover. When he needs us he knows where to find us.

When all is said and done, we have been gone for several months, with very little correspondence with our wives.

“What if I get home and she has already had the baby?” Alexander asks as we reach New York. We will be home within an hour.

“You will meet your child. She has Angelica and Peggy at her side, she and the child are in capable hands,” I reply.

“I should have written home more,” he says, regret and fear evident in his tone.

“It happened so quickly, ended so abruptly. We barely had the time to sleep between negotiations and drafting a basic structure for governance. We need to take some time, and then Washington is sure to call you in to help draft a constitution. We will make it up to them. There is no longer a battlefield to take us from them anymore.”

He nods and urges his horse forward to increase her speed. I follow suit and we continue to our destination. We dismount once we reach the Schuyler stables and make our way to the door. We are greeted by the butler, and surprisingly by Philip Schuyler, wide smile on his face.

“It’s about time you made it home,” he says, and then there is a faint cry that echoes upstairs, a cry that grows louder. Alexander bolts for the stairs. I spare a brief nod of acknowledgment to our shared father-in-law and follow Alex. He takes a right, races to a door, and he throws it open. I come to a halt behind him, Eliza is sitting on the bed, her attention focused on a small cot, and I watch as Alexander comes to a complete stop, the stillest I’ve ever seen him as a tiny fist rises from the cot while Eliza hums and tries to soothe the child within.

She looks up at us then, and smiles warmly, gets up, and gathers the small baby from the cot. She approaches Alex, and says, “Would you like to meet your son?”

She sounds tired, but she glows with love for her child and Alex. I can’t help myself; I draw near as she shows him how to hold the baby and places him in Alex’s arms for the first time.

My breath catches at the beautiful sight, how the love fills my Alex’s face, I find myself blinking. The child quiets in Alex’s arms. Alex turns to me, and I lean down, looking at the infant, dark, bright eyes, young, still a newborn, but the intelligence brimming in those dark eyes, so much like his father already.

“My boy,” he says, and Eliza says, “Our Philip, Philip Hamilton.”

I reach toward the child, nearly pull back as I realize we are still dirty from our long ride, but the look on Alex’s face encourages me and I brush the tiny hand with a fingertip and Philip grabs my finger, squeezes tightly, and I would die for this child if need be.

“I’m your Uncle John,” I whisper, and I look up at Eliza, and then around the room, my brow furrowed. With the baby here, surely Angelica would be here as well.

Eliza seems to realize my reason for confusion and says, “She just went home, maybe an hour ago, John. She’s been helping with Philip for the past two weeks, and she returns home every night to tend the house. She heard you were returning, and after helping me she is so tired, I begged her to leave early to get her rest for your return.”

She’s home. I’m quick to say my goodbyes and leave my friend to get acquainted with his son. I can hear Eliza’s laughter as I make my leave. I don’t even acknowledge my father-in-law as I head back to the stable. The ride home is fast as I put my horse to a gallop.

I barely tie the mare before I make my way to the door and rap on it calling out to Angelica. I can hear her moving around, and when the door is pulled open, I wrap my arms around her, spin her around, my mouth on hers. As I put her down, I realize something, she feels different in my arms.

“Angelica?”

She smiles softly as I release her from the embrace. She reaches for my hand and guides it to her belly, and I blink in shock as our eyes meet, and my mouth pulls itself into a grin.

“Really? I’ve been gone too long. I missed this. Why didn’t you write me about this?” I ask, the disappointment of missing out on discovering her pregnancy together evident.

She cups my cheek and guides my face down to kiss her.

“I know you’ve been busy, the battle of Yorktown, the terms of surrender, bringing Alex home and staying alive. I wanted to surprise you. We can share this; you’ll be here when our baby is born. I’m more than grateful knowing that. Eliza was heartbroken as she went into labor without Alexander there, but she’s patiently awaited his return. I imagine you went to my father’s house first. Have you seen him, little Philip?”

I nod, as she reaches up to wipe away the trail of tears from my face. “He’s beautiful, Angelica, a boy, just like we thought. I just hope we get our little girl,” I reply as I caress her swelling belly through her nightdress.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and then we can go to bed. I’m tired, and you look exhausted. I can only imagine how far and hard you’ve ridden to come home to me,” she says, and it’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.

I’m so tired. The mare is tied off for the night. I take care of her in the morning. Angelica leads me inside, securing the door behind us, and then she takes my hand and we go to our bedroom. I shed my clothes and she retrieves the washbasin and a cloth, cleaning me of the dirt from the long ride. I’m so tired, a bath will be in order in the morning, but for now, as my wife takes care to wash me, I accept her love and tenderness.

When she deems me clean enough, she puts up the basin and we retreat to our bed. She rolls onto her side, her back to me, and I draw her close, my hand finding the swell of her belly as she settles her head on my other arm. Her hand covers mine as I gently caress the swell and promise of the life we have created.


	19. Witness

It’s early when I wake, and while I’m pleased to wake in John’s arms, I have a pressing issue at the moment to handle. I am careful to keep from waking John, and ease out of bed. I take care of my needs and find that I am restless. I make quick work of cleaning up the chamber pot and return it to its place. I wash up, and ready myself for the day.

I slip out of our bedroom and go to the kitchen, I begin a fire in the stove, stoking the wood from rising flames to glowing embers. I retrieve a pan for cooking, and decide on eggs, and the cured ham I bought from the market yesterday evening on my way home. I decide on biscuits as well. The eggs and ham will be fairly quick to cook, so I began to work on the biscuits, assembling the dough, then kneading and pressing it, rolling the dough into small balls, placing them on the buttered pan for the oven. Once the biscuits are taken care of, I get to work on the eggs and ham.

The pan on the stove is hot enough. I add butter to the pan and crack the eggs, dropping them into the pan. I plate the eggs and then add the salted meat, searing it, and plating it. I remove the pan from the heat, and then take out the biscuits, Breakfast is ready, and now to see about waking up John.

I hear a groan and concern furrows my brow as I go to our bedroom. As I enter John moans again, he’s shifting restlessly in our bed, his hands clutching the bedding, a cold sweat across his forehead. “Rochambeau… no… Alex… get back. Watch your damn back, we have wives to go home to, you have a child waiting!”

I swallow thickly, realizing he’s caught up in a nightmare or perhaps memories. I take a seat at the edge of our bed and reach for his hand. He pulls away, but I reach for and grasp his hand, he quiets for a moment, and I gently call for him, bring his hand to my face, trying to coax him away from the battlefield of his nightmare and back to me.

“John… John, you’re home, come back to me, love,” I call out to him gently, and I press a kiss to his palm.

I watch as he begins to relax, slowly coming back. He begins to stir, his lashes flutter, and I let out a sigh of relief at his green eyes, alive with intelligence, and his cheeks flush. “Angelica?”

“Shh, it’s okay. It was a nightmare. I was worried. I had to get up, and then I couldn’t go back to sleep, I won’t leave you to wake up alone again though,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to worry. It’s just a bad dream, I’m okay now, I’m home.”

I nod and decide he will tell me when he is ready, instead I change the subject. “I have breakfast ready. I’ll leave you to clean up and dress, I would wait for you, but I’m hungry and… well.”

“No, of course. Don’t wait for me, go ahead enjoy it, I’ll be up and out in a minute,” he replies.

As I’m about to get up, he sits up and pulls me forward into a kiss, a kiss tinged with desperation, as though he is reassuring himself this is real, that he is home. When we part, he says, “I’m glad I could keep my promise to you. I’m glad I could come home to you and to this, all of this.”

He then nods towards the door and lets me leave. I go to the kitchen, add a couple of biscuits to our plates, and sit down at our table. I begin with a biscuit and pick up my fork, ready to start on my eggs when John comes out and joins me. He smiles and joins me at the table.

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” he says.

I snort and fix him with a stern expression. “I don’t know about you, but this wasn’t just for you. It is called a craving. I just happened to fix you a plate.”

He laughs as he takes a bite of a biscuit. “Well then, thank you for the consideration.”

I laugh too, and we work our way through our meal. He asks questions about how I’m feeling, if I’ve experienced sickness with the baby. When we’ve finished eating, he insists on taking care of the dishes. I just shake my head and give in to the compromise. Once he’s finished, he asks, “So, have anything planned for today?”

I pause and think for a moment, the house is clean, the laundry manageable, and it is my first day back with John. I shrug and say, “the house will keep for today. How about spending the day together? Maybe a walk through the town square, perhaps step into a few shops and browse, enjoy each other’s company? We could go to my father’s house to visit with Eliza, Alex, and Philip later this afternoon.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he says and advises me to get dressed.


	20. Quiet Uptown

After so many months of celebration and the chaos of creating a country, building a foundation, fretting over a union, the streets are quieter than I expect. I dress simply, in black. Glad that I have no need for donning the coat of my Patriotism.

Angelica keeps glancing at me, her hand in mine as we stroll the streets, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, and I know that I am quieter than she is use to, but the morning weighs on me, or rather the nightmare and the concern in her eyes as she woke me this morning. There were no nightmares in the camp as we tended the wounded, counted the dead, negotiated, as we worked on a draft of basic governance, but then we had worked ourselves to exhaustion, when was there time for nightmares?

“John,” she says quietly, her voice pulling me from the depth of my thoughts.

“Yes, my dearest, compassionate wife?” I reply, a grin turning my mouth.

“Don’t fret over this morning. I trust you will tell me in time if you need to. Given what you’ve seen and done, there are bound to be bad memories. I’m here when you have need of me,” she says.

I bring her hand to my lips and grace her palm with a kiss, noticing the flush that darkens her rich dark complexion. “I know. I have no doubt of your care for me.”

She nods and then comes to a halt. We are standing before a dressmaker’s shop, and there are christening gowns in the window. Her hand drops to the swell of our growing child. I smile at her nod toward the entrance. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Her face lights up in delight as she leads me into the shop. We look at the gowns, and I follow as she takes inventory of the materials in the shop, inquiring prices, and time for delivery of infant and child clothing. As she talks with the shop owner, realization finally dawns on me. Within months I will be a father, there will be a child between us.

My thoughts turn to our modest house, good enough for us now, but we will need more space for the child on the way, space, and furnishings, security to provide for the family we intend to have. I swallow thickly at the thought, remember Alexander’s proposal, professional partnership. I’m educated enough and can learn enough to work in proposing laws, and I know quite a bit about estate and property, topics my father deemed essential in my education up until I cut my ties and joined the Revolution.

I shake my head to clear it at the sound of Angelica calling out to me. I hold my elbow out to her, and she slips her arm through mine. “Did you order anything, or were you just inquiring?”

“Inquiring for now, though I like her work,” Angelica replies and then sighs. “I am sorry if it seemed tedious.”

My brow furrows, “Hmm? What no, I am enjoying our time together. I’m sorry I seemed lost in thought… It’s just being in the shop, seeing tiny clothes and watching you handling the fabrics and asking after prices and expectation of time, it makes all of this so real.”

“You had your hand over my belly for most of the night, and this is what makes it real?” she laughs in amusement.

I feel the heat rush up my neck and across my cheeks. “Not like that, just the preparation for a child, she will be here in a few months, and it seems that time will pass so quickly and there is much to be done to anticipate her arrival.”

Angelica nods. “You are certain we will have a little girl?”

“Alex got his boy, why shouldn’t we get our little girl?” I ask, and at the brief cast of doubt in her eyes, I amend, “But should we have a boy first, I would love them no less, my dearest, compassionate Angelica.”

She smiles, pleased at my response and I lean toward her, my lips press her cheek and she laughs, the sound rich and enchanting. “I suppose there is much to be done. Whatever do you have in mind, my dearest consternation.”

I snort at her sentiment, and then reply, “Well, Alexander and I spoke about a professional partnership in the time we had between negotiations and other duties in the time following the final battles. He mentioned practicing law since we will most likely be part of drafting the laws of our young nation. I have experience in property laws, ideas for proposing proper and representative taxes fair to all. Alex and I spoke a lot about taxes fitting representation. He is drafting a plan for our government and for a financial institution the likes of which the world has never yet seen. He’s brilliant Angelica, and he wants me by his side to help him, to support his ideas, and to share my own.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she says wistfully and I do not miss the sadness.

“Anything I draft, I want to go over and read with you, ask for your help in revisions, and seek your advice as much as his. You have a brilliant mind, and I would readily seek your counsel just as quickly as Alex’s,” I say with a smile.

Her eyes light up in joy. “Would you? Even at the prospect of being called henpecked?”

“Equity, woman, equity. And why should I care what nosy busy-bodies have to say? I would rather a satisfied wife than conforming to a society that values appearance over happiness.”

“You have proven good at pleasing me,” she replies, and I glance down to the swell of her belly.

“I should say so, given our present circumstances,” I say with a smirk of pride, and that devil of a woman smacks my shoulder and I wince.

She shakes her head, though her expression is one of amusement as I remind her, “I warned you that if you expected a southern gentleman, that I would disappoint.”

“Knave,” she replies teasingly.

“Your knave.”

“I would say so,” she replies and then sighs.

“Are you well I ask? Is this too much? Should we rest, or stop to eat?” I ask, hypervigilant to her condition.

She shakes her head. “No, I just had a thought. I received a letter from a friend of mine, in France. She heard rumors of our marriage, and she confided in me quite a scandal.”

“Oh,” I say with some interest. “I thought you were not one for gossip.”

She rolls her eyes and gives me a sharp glance. “As it pleases my wife, do tell.”

“My good friend, Maria Cosway, finds herself entangled in an affair with, of all people, Thomas Jefferson. He was widowed not too long ago, but the haste at which she seeks his attention does make one pause and question,” Angelica replies.

“Thomas Jefferson,” I say, and wince, “The ass that ran off after Benjamin Franklin to France to avoid fighting in the Revolution? Hardly a man of honor. It wouldn’t surprise me that he would mourn so short awhile before moving on so quickly.”

“Should I caution her over Jefferson’s intentions then? What would you advise?” Angelica asks.

I pause and consider it. “I would encourage caution and a question of his intentions. We both know how easily one can fall into scandal. If she cares for her reputation then she should be guarded until certain of his intentions, otherwise, she risks her heart and reputation, if her reputation matters to her.” 

She nods, considering my words as she tugs me forward and we resume our walk. Too late I realize our destination and grimace as I find myself arm in arm with my wife, standing before the gate of her father’s home. Last night when I was here with Alex there was little Philip to discover. Today I feel that should I face my father-in-law now; he will question my ability to provide for my family given our present home.

“We are here to see our nephew,” Angelica says with a smirk.

I grin and then sigh. “He’s a beautiful little boy,” I say, and then I give her a side-eyed glance, “And I will enjoy the visit with him, however, the confrontation I’m sure to have with your father has me apprehensive.”

“While I know you do not get along, he has softened in temperament with a grandchild.”

This I find difficult to believe, but I am careful to reply. “Alexander is in a far better position to see to the care and comfort of Eliza and the baby. He would not see my situation of the house I’ve provided you as suitable for you or our child.”

She rolls her eyes. “You provide well enough, and we will manage. Given time we can find a new home, one better suited for a growing family, but for now, what we have is enough.”

“You know your father will not share that perspective,” I reply.

She pulls a face and snorts. “And as I recall, it was not my father I married.”

With that, she pulls her arm free of mine and marches ahead of me through the gate and into the house. I laugh at my misfortune of stoking the Schuyler sister fire and make haste to catch up. It is also to my misfortune that before I can reach my wife, I encounter her father, and he requests a word with me in his study.

I hope his intentions are not to attempt to best me in a rematch of our prior drinking contest. With a groan, I follow him. Better to face his ire now than to be made to face it with Angelica present. She needn’t see her father and I argue with her present condition.

He takes his seat at his desk and I take one of the plush chairs across from it.

“Laurens,” he addresses me, his tone even, but filled with purpose.

“Surveyor General, sir,” I reply.

“I am not yet ready to address you so personably as by your first name, as well you know. You have a child on the way, my grandchild, and you will understand my disapproval of you when you’ve a child of your own to raise and care for. That aside, I have concerns about my Angelica and the child,” he says, sounding weary.

I consider his position, fully aware of his displeasure for me. “I understand your worry, sir.”

His head snaps up, his temper flaring. “How can you? You are yet to be a father, yet to hold a child in your arms that is yours, and you’ve stolen mine from me! You provide no land, a sullied reputation, a small house unfit to raise a family in, the salary of a soldier and now that is done because the war is won! Do you really understand my worry?”

“Do you think this has not crossed my mind?” I snap. “I only just found out yesterday that Angelica is expecting our child! I have plans, Alexander and I have discussed a partnership in practicing law, and given our favor with General Washington and our dedication to the founding of this new nation, we will have a part to play in constructing a constitution. I may not have much now, but that does not mean I lack the ambition to secure a proper future for my family. My concerns at this moment are seeing to the happiness and health of my wife. Loathe me all you want, but do not disparage me in front of Angelica, do not press upon her this worry of yours, she need not be burdened so heavily right now in consideration of her condition and our growing child.”

I see his eyes widen in shock at the anger that has burst from me, and all of the energy leaves me as I fall back into the chair, pinching the bridge of my nose as I collect myself.

“What is this?” he asks quietly and I am surprised by the concern in his tone.

I look up, quick to wipe my face free of the tears. “Sir?”

“Your concerns, is her health a present concern?” he asks.

I shake my head, “No, she told me she doesn’t even complain of the sickness that sometimes accompanies the carrying of a child. I just want to tend to her needs and health. I want my wife and my child to be well. I want my wife to not only birth a healthy child but be present to raise our child as well.”

“I see,” he says, and I look up in surprise, noting the sympathy in his tone, the curiosity in his gaze.

“My father was not as kind with his children as you are with yours, and harder still were his expectations on my mother, it wore her down, and by the time my youngest siblings were born she was too weak to fully recover. I will be damned before such a weight of expectation is put upon Angelica or our children.”

I watch as he takes in a deep breath, gives a slow nod, and then he stands. I stand as well and I am surprised when he reaches his hand out expectantly. I take his hand and shake it, bewildered at this turn of events.

“You love her,” he says. “You are thinking about your future with her and your growing family, and seeing you now, recalling how you have defended her to me since I discovered your union, you have earned my respect, John.”

“Sir?” I ask, unable to cover the confusion in my tone.

He laughs. “You will understand if you are fortunate enough to have daughters. Welcome to the family, son.”

My eyes widen. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“Not yet, but we can have a glass of whiskey as we discuss the purchase of a home befitting a growing family,” he replies, obviously taking pleasure from my bewilderment.

“Wh…what?”

“It is only fair that I do for you and Angelica what I am also doing for Alexander and Elizabeth. I do not agree with how you became my daughter’s husband, but you care for her, you fight for her, even with me you fight for her. As a father, I could not ask for better. You also are capable of tempering Angelica. She is the most brazen of my daughters, and she has run off many a suitor given her intellect and demeanor.”

I smile and nod. “I find her passion and fire refreshing. She is a woman of an independent mind, fierce and capable of anything. I hope, should our child be a girl, that she be of a similar bearing and sharp wit.”

“You say that now,” Schuyler says with a smirk, giving my shoulder a friendly clap before he goes to the liquor cabinet to pour our drinks, as he hands me two fingers of whiskey and continues, “But I assure you, the reality is quite daunting on a man’s health.”


	21. Undone

The ache in my back sharpens as I pace the length of our new bedroom. John is at the office with Alex, and Peggy is with me while Eliza tends to Philip, who has been fussy with teething. The pain increases, comes on faster.

“Peggy,” I gasp out and she looks up at me. “Fetch the midwife and John. Hurry!”

She looks at me with wide eyes, insists I lay down on the bed, and then she does as I ask, I hear her run down the stairs of my new home, a wedding gift from my father, that I am still surprised John was willing to accept. The maid we have managed to hire checks on me every now and then, though I continue to send her to check for the midwife and John’s arrival.

The aches grow sharper, more pressing, and I grit my teeth as my door opens, the midwife making her entrance, and then I hear the heavy footfalls on the stairs. John is at the door his foot stopping the midwife from closing the door on him.

Please, let him enter. I need him with me. She relents and then takes her place at the foot of the bed, lifting my nightgown. John is at my side, and I reach for his hand, and he grunts at the strength of my grip.

“If he is to be here, he may as well be useful,” she says, and he asks, “What do you need of me?”

“Get behind her, help her sit up, it makes the bearing down easier,” she says.

He’s quick to get behind me, leans back against the head of our bed, and as gently as he can pulls me against him to help me sit up. I cry at the movements and as the pain, ache, and pressure combine.

The child is close she says, and something feels like it ruptures within me and as the bed becomes wet, she tells me to bear down.

John gives me his hand to clutch, leaning forward against me, his lips at my ear as he murmurs encouragement, his other hand keeping my hair from my face. I grit my teeth, grunting and trying to contain my urge to cry out, bear down, again and again, every time the midwife orders. I give one more push and feel a release as something slides free of me.

The midwife makes quick work of clearing the baby’s mouth, as John kisses the side of my neck and tears slip down my face as we watch the child move and finally cry out. The midwife passes the child to me, and John helps me hold our little girl as the midwife helps to deliver the afterbirth, a much quicker process than the birth.

“You are the best of women, and she is beautiful,” John whispers against my ear as he holds out his finger to our daughter’s tiny hand.

I turn my head to see his face, the look of wonder makes my heart stutter for a moment. I barely recall the midwife cleaning me and the baby up, helping me to feed the baby for the first time, and seeing to my recovery. When it is time to clear away the bedclothes, I hold the baby as John lifts me up and holds me as the linens are taken care of and our bed cleaned.

He’s careful as he returns us to the bed, and we share kisses and look at the baby.

“She needs a name,” I whisper. We have discussed several, but now she is here, and my heart swells with the need to give him the gift of naming her.

“Alexandra?” he suggests, and given how our Alexander is the reason we have this moment, I cannot think of a better name.

“Alexandra Eleanor Laurens,” I whisper, and I meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” he replies, “Thank you for allowing me to be here, be a part of this. Seeing her enter the world.”

I smile at him, “I needed you here. We needed you here. Thank you for her, and for being here, helping me bring her into the world.”

We are lost in our own world, time seems suspended, and we are abruptly pulled back by a soft knocking at the door. John looks at me and I nod, knowing the knock is Eliza.

“Come in,” he calls to her.

She is surprised at John holding me as I cradle our child, and beyond her is Alexander, a sleeping Philip cradled in his arms. My breath catches at the intensity in his dark eyes and I wonder what he is thinking as he sees John and I together with our child.

“We would like for you to meet Alexandra Eleanor Laurens,” I say, and both Eliza and Alexander draw closer.

Eliza’s eyes sparkle with tears, and it is to no one’s surprise that Alexander breaks the quiet, “She’s beautiful. How long did you have to wait to see them, John?”

A grin spreads across John’s face as he looks up with pride and meets Alexander’s inquiring gaze.

“I didn’t wait. I was with Angelica the whole time. I helped with the birth. We saw her enter the world, take her first breath and cry for the first time together,” John replies, and the love and pride in his voice for our child makes my heart swell.

Alexander looks bewildered. “You were in here during the birth?”

I look up with a smile, and turn my head to kiss John before I reply, “He was, he held me the whole time, gave me his hand, encouraged me.”

“I will be here every time, anytime you or little Lexi needs me,” John responds.

I do not miss the sadness in Eliza’s eyes, and I say, “Alexander, your opportunity to see the birth of your child is a possibility now that the war is over.”

“John, I fear you’ve set the bar on this,” Alexander says with a wry grin, and then he turns to Eliza and says, “Hey, they are doing well, we’ve seen our beautiful niece and I trust that John and Angelica are more than capable. Let’s give them the night. Oh, and John, if you don’t make it into the office, I will have the documents for the Harkens estate delivered for your revisions. You have a better eye for sorting estate affairs. Actually, I don’t want to see you in the office this week, I’ll have the documents sent to you for revision, take your time.”

“Thank you,” John says, and I do not miss the shared look between them.

“Sure, and when you get back to the office, I will let you know about Washington’s offer.”

“The Constitutional Convention?” John asks.

Alexander nods and they share a grin between them. Eliza, Alexander, and Philip take their leave of us after, and I sigh, so tired but overjoyed.

John carefully settles us into the bed. I wince, my body aches, but with the baby resting between us, the ache is more than worth it.

“I hope she has your eyes,” I say softly as I yawn.

He smiles, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and then a kiss to the top of Alexandra’s head. “Get rest, my dearest, compassionate Angelica. I’ll stay up, and I’ll wake you if she’s hungry.”

Feeling safe I drift to sleep, holding our daughter, and listening as he whispers, “You’ll come of age with our young nation… We’ll give the world to you and you’ll blow us all away…”


	22. Non-Stop

I take in a deep breath, pinch the bridge of my nose and let it out, still shaking my head from earlier, but I will do my best to leave it outside of the house, well until my dear wife asks about today’s cabinet meeting. Holy shit, meeting is too tame a word.

I straighten myself and then open the door, the sound of two pairs of footsteps running towards me I kneel as my sweet Alexandra and Andrew run to me.

“Daddy, Lexi took the last cookie from me earlier,” Andrew says in a pout, and I shake my head and turn to my eldest with a raised brow.

“I broke it in half,” she says, and then elbows him as she cuddles into my arms. I gather up Andrew as well.

“And did Andrew get the other half?” I ask.

She shook her head and then grinned. “No, he wasn’t fast enough so momma took it and told him he could wait after supper.”

I laughed heartily, at Lexi, a miniature of her mother, but my hazel eyes and then raise a brow at my youngest, my boy, skin like mine, already the beginning of freckles, and dark eyes like his mother. “I’m sorry son, but if your momma says after supper, you have to wait.”

He rolls his eyes, a pout already tugging at his mouth as he grumbles, “But now I have to eat the carrots.”

“John,” I hear from the direction of the dining room, “Glad you’re home. How was your day?”

I squeeze the children and then let them go. They run off bickering between them, a little less than a year in age between them. Lexi will be seven in July and Andrew will be six in September.

Entering the dining room, I see the table set, and I imagine dinner is waiting to be served. I wince, realizing how late it is. Angelica looks at me with a raised brow, her dark eyes narrowing, and I know she senses my stress over the day.

“Was it Burr?” she asks.

I roll my eyes, “When is it ever Burr?”

She snorts, “Well I remember when he used to be Alexander’s second in court. You would come home looking just as weary. Was there a fight? Who did you have to pull Alex away from this time?”

“Thomas fucking Jefferson,” I grumble.

Thankfully her surprise and curiosity spare me the admonishment for my crude language.

“Really? Jefferson?” she says in surprise.

I nod. “Yes, Washington introduced him as the new Secretary of State. Alex tried to be nice and introduce himself, but Jefferson snubbed him and when the national debt and Alexander’s proposal for a national bank was brought up all hell broke loose. At one-point Alex effectively told Jefferson and Madison to bend over so he could put a shoe up their asses.”

Angelica cannot contain the laughter. “Oh my, well sounds like an eventful, if not productive, meeting.”

“That was where Washington broke it up, seeing me ready myself to come between Alex and Jefferson, and he privately addressed Alex later. I do not envy Eliza this evening, he is in quite a sulk.”

“Hmm,” she manages thoughtfully and I groan. I have an idea where this may lead.

“Angelica?”

“Well,” she says, “If it is agreeable, I would like to meet Thomas Jefferson. I have some familiarity with the nature of his character given my correspondence with Maria. Perhaps I could provide you and by extension Alexander some assistance in how to help with the financial plan?”

I snort and shake my head. “That would require him being unaware that you are my wife, I fear.”

She tilts her head and grins, “Would that be disagreeable?”

I grab the back of my neck and squeeze it, knowing Angelica has a will of her own and trusting her implicitly. Then again, I also think about what I’ve seen of Jefferson today. I don’t know who would be more likely to punch that insufferable smirk from his arrogant face, my dear Alexander or my dear, compassionate and fiery Angelica.

I hear her foot tapping as she has finished laying out the cutlery. “I have no issue with it, but should you manage to be charged with assault, because Jefferson is so insufferable, I will have no choice but to acquire Burr as your counsel for defense.”

“Burr,” she says with a grimace, her mouth a tight line, her dark eyes narrowed.

“You know, you needn’t ask my permission to meet anyone, my dearest,” I reply with a smirk, and then the pang in my belly prompts me to ask, “What’s for supper?”

She smiles. “Roasted mutton and vegetables served over rice. I added some rosemary to my usual blend of herbs. I cooked the rice in bone broth, and I pulled a jar of apricot preserves for the biscuits. Also, I can manage my temperament better than our dear brother.”

“Barely,” pops out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

She chooses to ignore it, _for now_. She smiles and says, “I know I needn’t ask permission. I ask out of respect for my husband. You know how the rumors spread. I hope you do not mind if I introduce myself with my maiden name though? I would like to gather a first impression of him without the bias of my relationship to you. Upon recognizing the Schuyler name, he will know my acquaintance with Alexander.”

“That will probably be the best way to meet Jefferson with as little bias as possible, actually,” I reply thoughtfully, following her into the kitchen, seeing the food laid out on the table. “I’ll take the food to the table and prepare the plates for the children. Go round them up.”

“Don’t forget to add carrots to Andrew’s plate,” she says as I pick up the pan with the roast to take to the table. My poor boy will be most displeased, but better him than his mother.

The last thing I bring to the table is a large pitcher of sweet tea, and yes, I am married to the best of wives and women. I’ll be damn that Alexander say that about Eliza and not argue the point in favor of my own Angelica.


	23. Chapter 23

Seeing the children playing together makes my heart swell, cousins who love each other, and young Philip so much like his father, and my headstrong Alexandra challenging him, too much of myself and John in her. Eliza looks up from her needlework, a delicate brow raised in my direction.

“Angelica, what is it?” she asks.

I shake my head; the thoughts stubbornly stay though. “Well, I imagine Alexander wasn’t in the best of moods yesterday evening.”

Eliza snorts. “That is a gross underestimation. He is displeased with how things are going for his plan for the national bank. He won’t listen to reason either. I fear he will stay here instead of joining us upstate with father for the summer.”

“Well, if Alexander chooses to stay, John will as well. Still, the work they do is important. John has shared with me his own notes and revisions on Alexander’s plan, and Eliza, it is truly ingenious.”

She chuckles. “I’ve read some of it and can make neither heads nor tails of it. I know only that it takes my husband from me at all hours of the night. I cannot tell you how many times I have woken in the night to find him asleep at his desk.”

“Well, his absence from your bed hasn’t prevented another child to come,” I point out teasingly at Eliza’s present condition.

“Angelica,” she scolds, a blush lighting up her face.

I laugh and then sigh, and she says, “What are you thinking?”

“Well, it is nearly lunchtime, and I am sure that today’s meetings will take a brief recess for lunch or to give Alexander time to collect himself given how hot-tempered he is. Would you mind too terribly if I were to take leave of your company and visit John? I also need to give him the revisions of his essay he asked me to read through.”

She smiles, and I feel a little guilt at my lie to her. In my desired destination I am honest, in the company I intend to keep I am not. All the better so that she will not worry needlessly.

“Of course, I don’t mind. Have a good lunch, and give my dearest brother John my love,” she says, and I smile.

“I will, dear sister,” I reply. I get up and press a kiss to her cheek and make my leave.

It does not take me long to reach the building, and I do have John’s papers. I make my way inside to leave the essay with the clerk, who assures me that it will be delivered to John. I thank the clerk and then make my way outside to wait near the door. This will take some cleverness to assure that I meet Jefferson.

Someone bursts through the door in exasperation, I hear the name Thomas called from within, but the man, dressed in an unusual shade of purple, his hair wild and puffed around his head, ignores this. He is moving quickly and I make a swift decision and move directly into his path.

He stumbles right into me and we fall to the street together. He is apologetic and quick to get to his feet and help me up, however it is also clear that he is trying to escape the person calling out to him.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I really am in a hurry, but given I feel I owe you some redress, would you care to join me for lunch?” he asks, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he takes in my appearance.

“And just who would I be joining for lunch?” I ask, and I have to work hard to keep the smile off my face as he looks surprised that I do not recognize him.

“Why, I do apologize, my dear,” he says and gives a quick bow, his drawl evident and more pronounced than John’s. “I am Thomas Jefferson, and might we make haste. I really need to be done with this place for now.”

I nod and I’m surprised at how brazenly he takes my hand and soon find myself in a brisk stroll with Thomas Jefferson. Based on this brief introduction to the man, I could see how Alexander would find him so frustrating.

Once we are seated in a restaurant, Jefferson tells the waiter that we would prefer privacy and no further company, and then orders himself a cool sweet tea and a shot of whiskey, and begins to order water for me.

I interrupt him, which gains his interest as he looks at me with interest now, “Actually sir, I too will have a sweet tea and two fingers of whiskey please.”

As the waiter walks away, Jefferson nods in approval, and says, “Well, now you have my attention, however you please Miss…”

“Miss Rensselaer, Angelica Rensselaer,” I reply, extending my hand to him by way of introduction, making use of my mother’s maiden name.

His brow furrows at the name, one not familiar to him, as he takes my hand and presses his lips to the top of it, oozing Southern charm. “I must admit, I am not fully familiar with all of the aristocratic families of New York. I’ve only just returned to our country and find myself quite busy in establishing our government.”

“I imagine that would keep such a man of wit and intelligence busy. I will admit I found your Declaration quite impressive when first I read it. That all men are created equal,” I reply, our waiter returns, Jefferson orders, and then looks to me, and I order as well, once the waiter leaves, Jefferson recalls where we left off.

His eyes glitter at the praise. “I’m glad it pleased you. I felt quite passionately about my words. I also helped to write a similar declaration with my dear friend the former Marquis de Lafayette.”

My breath catches at the mention of Lafayette, but I quickly recover it. “Yes, you were our ambassador to France,” I say, and again he seems impressed, and asks, “Are you interested in politics?”

I laugh, “Oh yes, I find it quite fascinating the times that we are living in, the founding of something new and promising, ideas for creating laws, financial institutions, and gaining allies. Of course, I would like to give in to a girlish indulgence I once carried some years ago when I read your Declaration.”

“Oh?” he grins, and leans forward, almost conspiratorially. “Please share, I’m more than willing to indulge such a lovely and intelligent woman.”

“Well, given my education, and wit, I would dare say that an amendment should be made to your Declaration, Mr. Jefferson.”

At this, his eyes widen in astonishment. I chuckle at his surprise, and I imagine he is rarely corrected, save for dear Alexander. He splutters for a moment, and then looks at me in consternation and asks, “Now I’m curious. That document led to our separation from the monarchy, what could possibly need to be amended?”

His dark gaze challenges me and I smirk, “Well, that you concede that all women are just as equal to men. Would you deign anything less than equity, when a woman is required in a household and if given proper education, women are just as capable as writers and understanding politics if it is an interest they are given the opportunity to explore?”

His mouth falls open and it takes him a moment to collect himself before a burst of rumbling laughter erupts from him. “How fascinating. Perhaps if I met more women like you, I just may need to take the thought into consideration.”

The conversation continues between us, and I am careful to avoid serious topics as our drinks and meals are served. I fall into a fun banter with Thomas Jefferson, who insists by the end of our meal that I call him Thomas, which I do on the condition that he call me Angelica. He is quite charming, and I can understand his reputation as a womanizer.

Once we have finished our meal, I accompany him back to the state-building. He continues to work his charms, and I indulge him, though inwardly I smirk, knowing he doesn’t stand a chance, though he seems to think he does.

As we reach the doors of the building, I hear my name, the tone peppered with confusion and ire, “Angelica?”

“Hamilton,” Thomas practically spits and we turn to face him. Alexander glares at Jefferson and I brace myself. My charade is up.

“Are you serious right now? Angelica! How could you even know Jefferson, and I just heard that you were seen having lunch together?”

“Don’t you have a wife, Hamilton?” Jefferson says pointedly.

“Yes, and my dear sister-in-law here,” Alexander says, with acid in his tone, ”has a husband, lest she’s forgotten.”

“Alex,” I hiss.

Jefferson pulls back, and I take my arm from his and glare at Alexander. “You are a damned fool, Alexander.”

“John is a bigger fool than I am apparently!” Alexander snarls and glares down Jefferson, as Jefferson just takes a step back from me, but continues to watch in interest.

Before I can respond, John comes running down the steps of the building, he must have been near the door, “Why have I heard my name?”

“Your wife is strolling around the city, arm in arm with Jefferson and they apparently had lunch together,” Alexander snaps, his voice dripping with accusation.

John snorts. “And? She told me last night she had planned to introduce herself to Jefferson. I see nothing wrong with it. Angelica is a woman of her own mind. She can make friends how it pleases her. I trust my wife implicitly, Alexander. Now rather than press on with this misguided indignity, why don’t we return to presenting and arguing for your proposal. And welcome back, Jefferson, Washington was just sending for you.”

“Laurens,” Jefferson says with a nod and then pauses, “If I may have a word with your wife.”

John shrugs. “She is her own woman; she may speak to whomever it pleases her. She speaks for herself.” With that John grabs Alex’s arm and jerks his head toward the building, and I do not envy John the inquiry he is currently enduring.

“So, this is interesting. Why meet me under false pretenses, Mrs. Laurens?”

I snort and then meet his inquisitive gaze. “If I presented myself as the sister-in-law of your rival, would we have gotten to know each other?”

“You neglected to present yourself as married as well, darlin’.”

“You heard my husband. I am a woman of my own mind. I consider myself equal in intellect to you, why would I present myself in a way that would allow your bias and society’s unspoken rules of etiquette to perceive me as inferior. Concerning my marriage, what has that to do with meeting a new friend, unless your intentions were less than honorable. Granted your reputation does precede you in that regard, Mr. Jefferson,” I reply with a smirk.

“Please, Mrs. Laurens, continue to call me Thomas,” he says and inclines his head at me with a smile.

I laugh, “Then continue to call me Angelica.”

“All right, Angelica, I look forward to getting to know you. I will accept any correspondence from you and perhaps I can join you and the esteemed Mr. Laurens one of these nights for dinner.”

I nod, “I can make arrangements for the children, and that would be nice. And don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“Oh yes, and I look forward to our pending friendship, it seems that would be most displeasing to your dear brother-in-law.”

“Is that your only motive for friendship?” I ask, a challenge in my tone.

He grins, “No, I am interested in getting to know a woman who claims to be an intellectual equal. That such an acquaintance will annoy Hamilton merely adds a small degree to my vested interest.”

I shake my head. “Very well, I will send an invitation for you to join us for dinner by the end of the week.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he makes his way up the stairs and enters the building.

John will have a lot to say this evening when he returns home if Alexander’s reaction is any indication.


	24. Of Dinners and Declarations

I arrive home late in the evening for the second day in a row. I sigh, still trying to clear Alexander’s admonishments from my mind. Upon entering the house, the first thing I notice is the quiet.

“Angelica,” I call out.

“In here,” she calls from my study and I join her, seeing her lounging on a chaise and reading a book, looking at peace.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself,” I say with a snort of amusement.

She looks up a grin tugging at the edges of her mouth, her eyes sparkling with intelligence and curiosity. “I don’t know what you mean, sir."

I put down my things and approach her. I bend down and kiss her, and she kisses me back, stoking the fire in my belly. She shifts, making room for me and sets her book aside as she leans into me once I’m settled.

“You know, Jefferson baited him all afternoon and even mentioned a dinner invitation that he was expecting for the end of the week?”

She reaches up and frees my hair, her fingers shaking it loose as she says, “Well, I thought it would be nice to invite him to dinner and get to know him more. He is an intelligent man, and perhaps this could make him more receptive to Alexander’s proposal with the bank. Given that Virginia has no debt and New York does, it would be wise to make an ally of Jefferson, if not entirely on our side then at least open to the idea.”

“Clever woman,” I chuckle, and then sigh, “Would you mind convincing Alexander of that? He seems to be taking your meeting and attempts of friendship with Jefferson as a betrayal of our marriage.”

“Why must he be so overdramatic. My pending friendships do not displease my husband, and usually never garners Alex’s attention. He’s just angry that I am pursuing a friendship with Thomas.”

“Thomas?” I ask and grin.

She rolls her eyes, “I can’t very well call him Jefferson if I want to get on his good side now, can I?”

“I concede,” I reply. “So, when is this planned dinner? I can make arrangements to come home early to help you cook, and I imagine… Would Eliza be okay with taking the children? Speaking of which…?”

“She offered to take the children this evening when I told her I had met Jefferson, thinking we would have much to talk about. We also spoke of her taking the children Friday night so that they could all ride out together to head to Father’s summer home. I’ll leave to follow Saturday morning. I imagine that you and Alex will stay behind in order to appeal to Congress on behalf of Alex’s financial plan?”

I nod. “Yes, Alex’s career hangs in the balance of this proposal. I’ll do my best to visit on the weekends. Now on to more pleasing business…”

She raised a brow at me, and I smirk, “It has been quite some time since we’ve had the house to ourselves. It would please me to see my wife satisfied by the end of the night, perhaps even well into the gray hours of dawn.”

The rest of the week passes in a blur of argument at the Congress building, working on keeping Alex’s temperament in check, and then Friday arrives. During lunch, I join Angelica and we see the children off with Eliza, and then I send a courier to remind Jefferson of his invitation to dinner and to take off for the rest of the afternoon, praying Alex can contain himself for one afternoon.

Once home Angelica and I retreat to the kitchen. We work together in tandem, cutting potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions. Angelica uses the mortar and pestle to grind and blend rosemary, thyme, sage, and cumin.

I get the pleasure of plucking and cleaning the chicken. Once the chicken is cleaned, I put it in the center of the large roasting pan. I watch as she rubs the herbs onto the meat, adds the vegetables, and pours in the broth she had prepared. She covers the pan and I place it into the oven for her.

We exchange a kiss and I say, “The invitation was for six this evening?”

She nods and then grins. “I think your specialty would be a most welcome dessert.”

“Blackberries? Do we have any fresh or should I use some preserves?” I ask.

She takes a basket from our pantry and smiles. “I picked them fresh this morning.”

“Very well, and you’ll work on the biscuits? Glaze them with honey, my dearest. Tonight is a special occasion after all.”

She laughs. “When Alexander finds out we served Jefferson honey biscuits at dinner tonight…”

“He will be intolerable,” I finish for her.

I prepare the cobbler, having mastered the skill to create a suitable crust to top the dish. I do enjoy a few berries as I work on the dish.

Once everything is in the oven, having maneuvered the dishes to accommodate everything, Angelica pokes at the embers. We set the dining room table next.

“Should we pick out a wine?” she asks.

I consider this and shake my head. “No, he strikes me as more of a man that prefers whiskey. I could make a pitcher of sweet tea. Mine is more Southern than yours. If it steeps now, it would be the perfect temperature to serve by this evening.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in shared kisses, cooking, and discussion. I tell Angelica about the tensions between Alexander and Jefferson, how Jefferson and his fellow Democratic-Republicans are against the idea of a national bank because the states would assume national debt.

“While the reasoning is selfish, I could understand his unwillingness to gamble with his fortune. Still, he is also a man with vested interest in governing our country and not just Virginia. He could be persuaded with the compromise on the table. There is the solution, a compromise.”

My wife is brilliant, a compromise is ingenious, but that would require Alexander minding his temper. I wince at the thought of suggesting compromise to my takes-no-prisoners Alexander. At my expression, she sighs, “Alexander and compromise. I do not envy you that discussion with him.”

“I also have my own reservations in this. Jefferson owns over 200 slaves, and you know my position on the barbaric practice,” I say.

She approaches me and kisses me. “You are working towards fixing that end with your writing. I pray that we might see progress.”

“We are not truly free until every last man, woman, and child in this land is free,” I say, and I fear any compromise would put my efforts for abolition in peril.

As the hour for dinner draws near, I grow restless, find myself pacing once I have pulled the roasted chicken from the oven. The tea has cooled significantly. At the knock on our door, I share a look with my wife. She smiles and says, “Go welcome our guest, and be nice.”

I do as asked, and notice the surprise on Jefferson’s face as I open the door for him. He recovers quickly and says, “Ah, no servants?”

“We have a maid, but she has the day off and Angelica and I prefer to care for our home ourselves. My father-in-law calls us both mad, however he has yet to complain over any meal he has been served,” I say as I allow him entrance.

“Ah, that’s right Senator Schuyler is your father-in-law. That makes you and Hamilton brothers by marriage. You two seem close,” Jefferson replies.

“We are very close. We have gone through quite a bit together, and I honestly owe my marriage to him. We met our respective wives on the same night,” I reply.

“I heard there was some scandal regarding the wedding. Did the scandal involve him or you?” Jefferson asks, a toothy grin tugging his mouth.

“That would have been my marriage to John. Following my sister’s wedding, John and I, knowing my father would not approve, left the reception and eloped in the early hours of morning. Lafayette was our witness,” Angelica responds, and Jefferson nods, impressed.

“Lafayette? He mentioned knowing Hamilton, but your name escapes my recollection.”

I laugh, “I’m growing used to that. Alexander is so loud, abrasive, and memorable, that those of us in his shadow are easily overlooked. I do not mind being second or lost to history if it means his success. The man is non-stop, writes like he’s running out of time. He has done many great things, and he stands to do so much more. He’s very ambitious.”

“Such admiration for him. He’s loud, brash, does not understand the subtleties of high society and wealth. His legacy is his own, no family or bloodline to speak of,” Jefferson says, “It is curious how he has managed to come so far, and he’s won over Washington. I will admit he is an accomplished writer, but his ideas are radical.”

“A revolution is radical too, and yet here we are,” I respond with a smirk.

“Touché,” Jefferson concedes.

“I’ve placed dinner on the table. We need only be seated,” Angelica says.

“I could have taken the dishes to table Angelica,” I reply.

Jefferson looks between us, perplexed, but he follows us to the dining room.

“As the guest, you can take head of the table. We can sit on either side of you,” I offer.

“Hm,” he says and then narrows his eyes between us as he takes the main seat. “Am I missing something?”

“What do you mean?” Angelica asks.

“Well, Hamilton isn’t going to be popping in? Or is the food something I should be wary of? This seems entirely too friendly, especially given that the pair of you are so closely related to Hamilton. Not to mention, your domestic situation seems rather… suspect.”

I snort into my glass of tea at his observations. “Actually, our house is one of equity. Angelica and I are equal shareholders in our home and in our relationship. Equity is the basis for our union. We both prepared the meal; I also made the tea and dessert. I will admit that I am looking forward to your review of the meal, it’s been a long time since we’ve had a new guest to dinner.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “What? No servants, and she’s got you cooking?”

Angelica laughs, “Wait until you try his blackberry cobbler. The honey biscuits are mine. I prepared the chicken, though he did the heavy lifting and prepared the vegetables.”

Jefferson nods and says, “Very well, let’s eat.”

Breaking bread with Jefferson is an interesting affair. He seems to enjoy the meal. He is surprised when I take the dishes to the kitchen, but he perks up at the sight of my return with the dessert.

“So, this equity,” Jefferson says, waving his fork for emphasis before taking a bite of my cobbler and moaning his delight, “How does this work?”

She smiles, “Well, he treats me as an intellectual being. He would not ask of me anything he would deem unworthy to do himself. We started our marriage in modest means, but even in having gained success and security, we have realized three fundamental truths in our union. One, we can see ourselves through any hardships together, as equally invested partners; Two, we have open communication, and transparency, we talk about everything; Three: we value education and each other’s perspectives, even when our views diverge. We can talk and agree to disagree typically.”

“And I would like to add, we always share our grievances and affections before bed each night. The only time we’ve ever been apart for any significant amount of time was during my time in the war. I’m home every night. We write regularly if we are apart for any significant time, which appears will be the case this summer. She is my equal in all things except intellect, in this area I believe she is superior. After all, I am the one charged with tempering Alexander’s brash approach to advancement.”

As Jefferson finishes the desert, he says, “I must admit, when I accepted the invitation for dinner, I was not expecting this. The meal was exceptional, and the two of you are quite reasonable and pleasant company. How is it that you find Hamilton tolerable?”

“His passion is a fire, it’s singularly attractive, and wholly consuming. Perhaps we were lucky in being people he cares for, he would do anything for us, his loyalty and affection for those he grows to care for is unparalleled. He is also impulsive, loud, brash, unrefined, but he has integrity and strong convictions,” Angelica answers.

I reach across the table to take Angelica’s hand, a smile on my face, “You forget how impulsive I can be, my dearest, compassionate Angelica.”

“And a bad influence,” she replies.

“This has been more agreeable than I expected,” Jefferson cuts in and we both turn to him. He looks from our clasped hands to our faces. “And you are agreeable to a friendship between your wife and me? I do not wish to impose, but I will admit she is of a rare mind. I would extend that friendship to you as well. In spite of my rivalry with Hamilton, would this be agreeable between us?”

I nod, “Yes, although we may agree to disagree on the topic of your present domestic situation.”

Jefferson raised a brow, “Ah, so the rumor is true and you are an abolitionist. Interesting given that you’re originally a South Carolinian?”

“Yes, but I know the African and African-descended slaves are wholly intelligent and deserve liberty. I fought for freedom for _all_ ,” I challenge him.

Jefferson snorts in amusement, “I agree that slaves are far more capable than given credit and I do not agree with their bondage. In Monticello, my slaves are well kept and cared for, and I have heard this is not the case on every plantation. There is the issue of investment, but they are never mistreated and each properly educated. With opportunity they can accomplish as much as any man. It is a matter of economic fidelity that ties the hands of my household, Laurens.”

“Is that economic fidelity a concern with Hamilton’s financial plan as well?” Angelica asks delicately and Jefferson’s laughter fills our dining room, echoing against the walls.

Upon Jefferson’s departure, I exchange a look with Angelica and sigh. “I do not like enjoying that insufferable man’s company.”

She simply laughs at my expense and leads me to bed.


	25. Compromise and the Reynolds' Affair

“Hey Laurens,” Jefferson calls out as I make my way up the statehouse steps. “That cobbler was divine!”

I wince as Alex stiffens beside me and he looks from me to Jefferson and then back to me. “How does he know what your cobbler tastes like?”

I take in a deep breath and brace myself. “He came to dinner Friday. You know how Angelica and I are. She insists I make the cobblers in the house.”

“You ACTUALLY hosted him in your house for dinner? John! It’s Jefferson,” Alexander snaps, as though that is explanation enough for his anger, and to be fair, in Alex’s mind this is most likely the case.

“He’s actually not that bad, and pretty funny when politics are set aside,” I shrug. “His thoughts on slavery are interesting, something that I can revisit with him while minding my temper and with Angelica to buffer and put in her own reasoning perhaps progress can be made on that front in time. I have already resolved myself to emancipation being a cause that will take a lot of time to progress to true liberty for all. First, we must get them to listen to our reasoning before we pull at their purse strings. He was actually very respectful of my position as an abolitionist, though surprised given my origins as a Southerner.”

Alex is speechless, and my growing knack for leaving him in this state of confusion leaves me amused, though I am careful to keep my expression neutral, lest he unload on me later.

“Come on we have a meeting to attend,” I say as we continue inside, Jefferson following closely.

As we settle into our seats, Washington going over the agenda, I lean over and whisper, “Maybe you should consider taking Burr’s advice in this matter. If you don’t get the votes, not only is your plan in jeopardy, but your position as Secretary of Treasury as well. If you proposed a compromise, get Jefferson on your side, or at least open to the idea, you stand a better chance of establishing your legacy. Put aside your temper, yes it has gotten you this far, but in this your temper is a threat. Perhaps a meeting with Jefferson and Madison. I know you and Madison were close at one point before he took opposition with your ideas for a national banking system.”

Once the meeting concludes, I sigh, Jefferson cannot resist the temptation to take a dig at Alexander, “Hey Hamilton, you still don’t have the votes.”

I expect an explosion, instead, Alexander looks at me and chews his bottom lip for a moment before finally saying, “Perhaps we can have our own meeting to discuss further details of my plan, perhaps take some suggestions from your perspective.”

“I would find this agreeable as long as you can be civil Hamilton,” Jefferson says thoughtfully.

“This Friday, my house. I will have dinner by six,” I reply.

“Isn’t your wife upstate?” Jefferson asks.

I chuckle, “We have prepared enough meals together that I can manage, and my cobbler is superior to hers. If you would extend the invitation to Madison?”

Jefferson nods, “Yeah, I’ll let Jemmy know. It’s a date Hamilton,” Jefferson finishes and blows an air kiss to Alexander. I place a stern hand on Alexander’s shoulder to keep him from reacting.

“You do realize this will probably be a disaster, right?” Alexander says, and I laugh and rub the back of my neck, strongly suspecting this to be an understatement, but I also plan to send my notes on Alexander’s plan to Jefferson and Matterson to give them further clarity into Alexander’s idea for a national bank, that doesn’t involve him telling them to kiss his ass.

As the night of dinner grows closer, I am surprised by the subdued behavior of my dear Alexander. He is not as loud, not as abrasive, and not as talkative. This behavior strikes me as very strange, but then again, I have seen him quiet and driven, always when writing. There are times where I catch him writing during some of the meetings. Perhaps he is revising the plan, thinking of compromises, though it is odd he is not sharing this with me or seeking revisions.

A week passes with surprising swiftness. I make sure that Alexander will be okay on his own following our recess for lunch on Friday. I get nods and brief reassurances.

As I am leaving to go home, having already announced that I would take my leave early, Jefferson catches up to me on the steps of the building. He claps me on the shoulder and I turn to him.

“I know you said dinner is at six, expect my arrival to be early, I have some questions for you before the fighting starts,” Jefferson says.

I raise a brow. “How early?”

“Today adjourns at three, so I will be there at four. Jemmy will arrive at six on the dot, he’s punctual like that. What about Hamilton?” Jefferson asks.

I sigh. “Given that he is at present working himself to distraction he might be late. I have arranged a courier to remind him of the hour at a quarter to six.”

“Seems about right. Is he sulking over our arrangement this evening? I’ve never seen him so quiet,” Jefferson says.

I shrug. “It appears he is working to some end. He gets like this in an extreme bout of concentration.” 

“It’s unsettling. I’ve grown so use to our debates, that it troubles me when he doesn’t object or challenge me,” Jefferson replies, “But that is something for us to discuss in greater confidence later. I imagine you have quite a bit to do to prepare for this evening.”

I take my leave of Jefferson, stop by the market, and the butcher, and within the hour I am at home in the kitchen. Meat seasoned with thyme, garlic, basil, salt, pepper, and a pinch of ginger. I make quick work of the vegetables, potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, add them to the roasting pan around the large slab of beef.

Checking the embers in the oven I place the dish inside and decide that I will review some papers, and perhaps get in some reading. Between my reading and checking the roast, the time passes quickly. I’m startled at the sound of the bell on the door.

I answer the door and sure enough, Jefferson is a man of his word. He is on my doorstep with a crate. He hands the crate to me and says, “Wine. It was noticeably absent the last time I broke bread with you. Considering the company will be less pleasant this time, I thought some spirits would be much desired.”

I snort. “Fair point,” I say in amusement as I kick the door shut and then, “Join me in the kitchen. I’ll set this crate down and begin work on the cornbread and dessert.”

Jefferson lifts his nose to the air and looks at me in surprise, “You’ve really been preparing our meal this entire time? No maid?”

I’m amused at his disbelief. “For the first three years of my marriage we lived in a very small house while Angelica’s father had this one built for us as a belated wedding gift. Alexander’s and Eliza’s home was finished an entire year before ours. In that time, we enjoyed sharing our duties to our household. I can cook as well as my wife, and honestly, having a maid every day with my wife absent of the house is excessive. She comes three times a week to see to cleaning and preparing meals that serve me a day or so, but I’m good enough at finding my own meals.”

“You, sir, are a very strange man,” Jefferson replies. “Then again, your strangeness should not surprise me given your closeness to Hamilton. I am, however, honestly surprised by your level head. You are different from what I expected. I have met your father, and you are quite different from what I’ve heard rumored.”

“I was once wild, Jefferson,” I reply, and then sigh, “But it is strange the influence love has. I found someone who’s temperament required that I learned restraint if I wanted to remain a significant part of their life. In meeting that need I needed to quell my impulsiveness. Getting married, having children reminds me of my need to be a better man.”

“And why do I get the feeling that someone is not your wife?” Jefferson replies with a smirk.

I chuckle and tell him to get us a glass of his fancy wine and tell him where to find glasses. I begin to work on preparing the cornbread, once that is in the oven by the roast, I restoke the embers, that soft glow that will see the food is thoroughly cooked, and the meat tender.

As I begin work on peeling and cutting the apples and pears for the cobbler I have planned, Jefferson places a glass on the counter near me. “You can get a chair from the dining room.”

He does as suggested, and rejoins me. Watching quietly as I add the fruit to a dish along with brown sugar and cinnamon. I then see to melting some butter on the stove, adding that to the mix. He breaks the silence as I make the pastry crust, rolling the dough in a mixture of flour, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

“So, how long have you been in love with Hamilton?” Jefferson asks thoughtfully, as he swirls the wine in his glass.

I am honestly not surprised by the question. I down the glass of wine, then cover the prepared fruit with the pastry, slip this dish into the oven as well. I make quick work of washing my hands and cleaning up the counters as Jefferson pours me another glass and looks at me with a smirk.

He does not, however, expect my answer. “Since the moment I met him, all those years ago in the tavern when he called out Burr and challenged me and Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan to greatness. I have since made it my mission to see his success. He has my loyalty. I toasted his union at his wedding, and even now here I am. He is meant for greatness, a strong legacy. It is enough for me, the life I have made with my wife and our children. I do not need the glory that Alexander does, I need only be a part of his life, some small footnote in his narrative.”

“You trust me enough to tell me this?” Jefferson asks, his brow furrowed, a hmm escapes him as he takes a sip of his glass.

“In so much as you find yourself in a similar situation with Madison, yes,” I reply with a smirk.

“Touché,” Jefferson says and finishes off his own glass, before asking, “From what I gathered from our last dinner together, you and your wife speak of everything. Is she aware of your affections for Hamilton?”

“Have you asked that of her in the letter you wrote her?” I grin.

“She dodged the question,” Jefferson says dryly.

I laugh. “It was our interest in Alexander that united us. We were both hurt the night of his wedding. We had written each other in the same span that Alexander had been writing Eliza. We knew each other well enough, knew we would be no good for anyone else, and so we sent for Lafayette and went to a chaplain. It was the best hasty decision I’ve ever made. She was chaste, there was no further scandal than the heartache that drove our decision to marry that morning.”

“I’m surprised you trust me with any of this, Laurens. It is fairly damning.”

“You forget, you were audited before Washington appointed you Secretary of State,” I say with a smirk.

Jefferson’s dark eyes narrow and I chuckle. “I am the one who performed the audit. It was a conflict of interest for Alexander to do it, so I was given the task, it was also to my advantage that I had knowledge in matters of the value of slaves. While Alexander was busy with Madison and Jay defending the Constitution in their papers, I was reviewing your interests, investments, and records.”

“Find something did you?” he asks and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Your two daughters are not your only children I suspect. I also know about your indiscretion with Maria Cosway, for that knowledge you can thank my wife,” I say, and add, “I’m sorry for the loss of Mrs. Cosway’s child as well. No parent should mourn the loss of a child, however that child may have come about.”

“You seem to know a lot. Is that what this is? You plan to extort me to get the votes for Hamilton’s plan?” Jefferson’s voice is heavy with accusation.

I take in a breath. “You threw the gauntlet in asking about my attachment to Alexander and questioning my marriage. I just think that given your knowledge, that your silence buys mine, Jefferson. I have no intention of extorting your vote. I called this dinner together for Alex to have an opportunity to cool down and actually discuss his plan in a smaller setting, perhaps come to a compromise. I will not use my knowledge to the end of extorting anything. I am a patriot, and I believe that this country should be founded on ideals and not corruption. I am not, nor have I ever been, a man like my father.”

“Fair enough,” Jefferson replies after refilling his glass. “You are an interesting man, Laurens. I almost feel like I’ve been put into check in a game of chess with someone worthy.”

“I have a mind for strategy, perhaps not as sharp as my Alexander nor my Angelica, but I managed to survive the Revolution,” I say, and then wince. “About that, Alexander resents that you were in France, rather than fighting with us. He is proud of his status as a veteran, and he did a lot in our efforts to win.”

“He gained status in the war, and through his marriage with Elizabeth Schuyler. I know he came from nothing, an arrogant immigrant, but I can concede he is brilliant. Fifty-one of those essays were his, Jemmy told me all about it. Fifty-one, where did he find the time to write so much, not to mention the damn financial plan, how does he write that much? When does he have the time in all of his social climbing and his incessant talking?”

“The man is non-stop,” I say, leaving the second glass of wine untouched. “I’ve only ever seen him completely still and quiet once, and that was when he met his son, Pipin, sorry Philip, for the first time. He is constantly in motion, rarely sleeps a full night, even talks in his sleep, oddly he rarely speaks English, usually French or Spanish in his sleep.”

“I dare say you know a lot about his sleeping habits.” The tone pointed, but not accusing, merely an observation.

“We lived together for a brief time early on in our friendship and shared a tent at times during the war. Nothing romantic has ever happened between us,” I respond with a shrug.

“Fair enough,” Jefferson concedes, and then he changes the subject. “To business, I reviewed the notes you gave me, the highlights of his plan. I have some concerns regarding the taxing of property and state representation in the House…”

The rest of the evening is all business. Alexander refrains from more than one glass of wine. The dinner is delicious, my culinary skills complemented, my notes and Alexander’s plan reviewed, compromises met. Alexander minds his temper, is concise for once. I’m surprised by his restraint, and apparently, I am not the only one surprised by his seeming solemnity.

“Very well, Hamilton,” Jefferson says, his lips drawn tight. “I will concede my vote, Jemmy and I are on the same page. We will speak to our party on your behalf to see about passing your proposal. Do not make us regret this. Your financial records had better be impeccable.”

“Rest assured, I keep records of all of my transactions, personal and professional,” Alexander responds.

Jefferson and Madison take their leave, Alexander stays, drinks another glass of wine and then he gets to his feet and paces. I furrow my brow, wondering what has him so restless suddenly. We did it, Jefferson will help the plan pass in the House.

“Alex?” I ask in concern.

He stops mid-pace, spins around, and then grasps my face and his lips are on mine. I startle for a moment, but then I give into a moment of weakness, give into him. My mouth opens to his, my hands go to his waist and I can’t help the moan that escapes me. The kiss is fiery, and then he jerks himself away, his hand goes to his mouth, and I find myself bracing against the wall, shaken by my want for him.

“I… I…,” he begins, and then, “God, John, I’m sorry.”

He leaves in haste then, out the door, and gone from my driveway by the time I recover enough to try and catch up to him. I close the door, I will check on him in the morning, to follow tonight would be too risky.

Sleep does not come easy that night. There are dreams, dreams that I thought had been lain to rest years ago, his eyes and his mouth, all of him. I roll and tumble, and finally, a little before dawn I have had enough. I dress quickly and see myself to his house.

I managed to unlock the door; glad it is not barred as I let myself in. As the door closes heavily behind me, I hear a thump from upstairs and rustling. I make my way upstairs and to his bedroom, wondering if perhaps he’s in the throes of one of his nightmares, or if someone has broken in and he needs help.

I open the door without a knock, and Alex is rushing to dress as quickly as he can, a strange woman with bedclothes wrapped around herself is still in his marriage bed. Alex’s eyes lock on mine and I see the shame, the horror, the sorrow. I do not bother saying anything. I turn and rush down the stairs, hearing his broken voice calling out for me.

I do not stop until I am home. I waste no time in cracking open one of the bottles of wine from the night before. I make my way to my study, drinking the wine from the bottle. When I’ve had as much of the wine as I can stand, I pour and consume several glasses of whiskey.

It is in this state that Alexander finds me. I am not sure how much time has passed, only that I have not been this drunk since I went shot for shot with Philip Schuyler.

I am lounging on the chaise, and he bursts through the doors of my study, I turn my gaze to the floor. I don’t want to look at him. Within a moment he is on the floor, kneeling before me, imploring me to look at him. I shove him back and get to my feet, I feel a bit dizzy from the drink and rising so quickly. He scrambles to his feet, reaches for me, and God help me, I hit him.

I stagger back and try to leave the study, instead he rushes me, and somehow, I end up on my back, looking up at his crooked nose, already swelling. For his size, he is surprisingly strong, and I find I am unable to get him off of me, and he has me firmly straddled beneath him. He leans down, holds my arms down. I have no doubt if I were sober, I could take him, but the haze of the alcohol is fleeting as he looks at me with those dark, sorrowful eyes.

“Please, John,” he whispers as he struggles to hold me down.

I turn my head and close my eyes so I can’t see him, “Why?”

“I… I don’t know,” he says mournfully, and then he releases my arms and grasps my face, his mouth against mine and God help me, I am willing to take whatever he is willing to give.

He pulls back, his hands running through my hair, tears trailing his face. I reach up and wipe them away, the ache in my chest deep and the fire in my belly growing, and I can tell he knows my body wants him.

“I would rather she had been you,” he says, his eyes still sad, but also burning. “I feel nothing for her, she is just a woman who needed help, and then she offered herself as repayment. She means nothing to me. I wish it had been us, waking up together, I… It was all I could do to take my leave of you last night!”

My eyes narrow, my anger is back. “No, you do not get to blame this on me! You had a familiarity with that woman. When did it start? I suppose sometime this week? It would explain your subdued behavior lately. Explain yourself Hamilton,” I snarl, and my strength finds me in my anger and I shove him off of me.

“John, it’s… I’m weak… She was… a moment of weakness. I miss the constant affections that I am used to, and with the financial plan and Eliza and the children away,” he tries to explain.

I shake my hand, “My wife and children are with them. My only moments of weakness have been with you, and never to fruition!”

“I do not have the resilience that you have my dearest Jack,” he whispers quietly, relying on the affection of that name he called me in the war, his head turned to the floor in his shame.

I bite my lip and take in a breath, “Settle your affairs with the woman. Do not even burden me with her name. It is not my place to speak of this, and this is your mess. You can clean it up on your own. I won’t speak of this, but mark my words, Alexander, you will pay for this one day and it will bear a heavy price. I may not deserve much by my affection, but Eliza deserves better, and my wife, my Angelica, deserves better. I need you to leave. I have to gather up my things, I’m going to ride upstate and visit my wife and children. I suggest you handle this situation, have it put to rest. I will return by Wednesday. Tell the members of the house I had an emergency, whatever you need to. You’ve my word I won’t say anything, as this is your doing, not mine. I pray that my silence doesn’t come at a price.”

“I… John,” he says and reaches for my arm.

I snatch it from his grasp, and respond, “I need you to leave. I have much to do and much to think about as I prepare to ride out. You needn’t worry, upon my return my temper will be settled, and I am still yours. Damn you, Alexander Hamilton, I am still yours.”

“And I’m yours,” he whispers as he takes his leave.


	26. Retreat

Sitting out on the front porch, shelling peas with my sister and our children is peaceful. I chuckle a little at the sight of Philip, our little Pipin, bouncing his leg, the same energy as his father, and I brace myself for Lexi’s sigh, but then comes the sound of a gallop, and Pipin is up and off the porch quicker than either Eliza or I could call for him.

He disappears up the road at a hard run, and within a few minutes the rider breaks from the tree line and Philip is on the horse with him. I am relieved and pleased to see that my husband is the rider. He sets Pip back to the ground and gets down himself. He tilts his riding hat at us and walks the horse toward the porch. I get up and make my way to the railing. He hands the reigns to Pipin for a moment and leans up on the railing to kiss me.

The kiss is fiery, leaves me breathless, and when we part, I see a heavy weight in his gaze. Lexi and Andrew race down from the porch and he embraces each of them as Pip asks, “Where’s daddy?”

John smiles down at him and ruffles his dark hair. “He’s still working on his big financial plan. I know he misses you very much though.”

Noticing the restlessness in his stance, I look to Eliza and say, “Do you think you can watch the children? John and I have some things we need to discuss regarding my correspondence with Thomas.”

Eliza’s eyes widen for a moment, but she nods and says, “Of course.”

John finishes greeting the children and tells them to be good for Auntie Liza, and then we walk to the barn where he sees to Prospero, removing saddle and bridle and then feeding the horse. With the horse settled he finally turns to me, his head lowered, and I approach him, my hands go to his face, and he winces and I do not miss the tears that slip from his tightly closed eyes.

“John?” I ask gently. “What happened? I wasn’t expecting you until next weekend.”

“Let’s go to your room first, I…” he says, and I nod, sensing his heartache, and as we slip into the house from the backdoor and up to my room, I brace myself for my own heartbreak.

Once we are in my room, our room, he takes my face between his hands, kisses me chastely, and leans our foreheads together. “Please… my Angelica… please be able to forgive me.”

“John,” I say as I pull back and meet his eyes. “I can forgive you almost anything. What has happened?”

I then take his hand and guide him to our bed. I take his hat and coat, then help him with his boots, patiently waiting for him to collect himself and to talk to me. Something has happened and I suspect it has to do with Alexander.

Finally, he takes in a deep breath and meets my gaze, his hazel-green eyes shining with remorse. He licks his bottom lip and I smile encouragingly at him, take his hand in mine as I sit next to him.

“We had dinner last night with Jefferson and Madison,” he begins, and I nod, Thomas had mentioned such an arrangement in a letter I had received Wednesday. “Jefferson brought wine. Alexander did not drink much during our dinner, as we talked about his financial plan, working out a compromise to get Jefferson’s and Madison’s vote and endorsement. After Jefferson and Madison left though, Alex downed another glass and then he kissed me, and I kissed him back. He kisses like a starving man, Angelica.”

My breath hitches, but there is more that needs to be said I can tell. “I can imagine, given his passion. He is never satisfied, after all.”

He blinks and squeezes my hand, brings it to his lips, kissing my palm, his eyes begging forgiveness as he continues, “He quit the house shortly after that. I was restless after, barely slept. I decided to right things the next morning. I found him at home, and I didn’t have the strength to confront him then, and so I returned home where he found me an hour later, near drunk and angry at him, myself…”

“Tell me, John,” I encourage.

“He asked my forgiveness for his impulse the night before, and I hit him, I think I may have broken his damn nose actually. He begged, he shoved me, we fought, and then I was on the floor beneath him, and my body was betraying me, wanting him as much as my damn heart still wants him,” he says, a sob escapes him and I close my eyes, knowing that very ache as well, our shared ache.

He reaches up, his hand loosening my hair from its pins. “I wanted him so much, he kissed me, he kissed me until I collected my wits and shoved him away. I told him that I was going to ride up here, that I needed him to leave, and that he had work to finish. I needed to get away from him. It seems my strength lies within you. I’m so sorry for my weakness.”

I feel the breath leave me as I pull him to me, a smile of relief pulls at my mouth as I am flooded with affection for my husband. “You are here with me now, John. You resisted him, and I know how hard that had to have been. That is strength, that you are here with me, that you chose me. What is there for me to forgive?”

His hands grasp my face and his lips meet mine in benediction, a promise, reaffirmation of his commitment to me, and I return the kiss, accepting his sorrow, his promise, his passion, and commitment.

“I love you, my dearest, compassionate Angelica,” he whispers as he pulls back, his hazel gaze darkening with need.

I feel the growing need in me. I pull at his shirt, yanking it open, a couple of buttons fly asunder, I can mend the garment later, for now I want to reclaim what is mine. Alexander be damned, this man is mine.

John’s eyes widen marginally, and I make quick work of divesting him of his clothes, my own joining his as I climb back atop him, my hand firm on his chest holding him down. He looks up at me, his eyes alight with curiosity.

I bend down capture his mouth and nip his bottom lip, he sucks in a sharp breath and I trail bites and my teeth down his jaw and throat, nip sharply at his collarbone, following a familiar trail of his freckles as I grind against him, feeling his growing interest.

“You are mine,” I growl as I scratch my nails down his chest, marking him.

“Angelica,” he says in a groan as my hands trail lower and his hands fall back, and I smile, feral, and when he tries to lean up for a kiss, I firmly push him back down to the bed. He raises a brow in interest.

I lean down against him, my breasts pressed against his chest and I smile, our gazes lock, his eyes and more rising to the challenge I am proposing. “You are mine, and I intend to remind you of this. Submit, John,” I whisper, my voice husky with lust. 

He licks his bottom lip, my eyes drawn to the movement and his teeth work that lip for a moment before he replies, voice equally husky, “As it satisfies, I am yours.”


	27. A Disagreeable Trade

The days spent with Angelica, Eliza, and the children are wonderful, but pass too quickly. I return to the city late Tuesday evening. My thoughts on Angelica, still surprised by her brazen reclamation of me. As I draw near the town square, I realize that I am not yet ready to be home, nor do I want to encounter Alexander. I consider my option and press my hand to my chest, the letter my wife intends for Jefferson there, on my promise to deliver it.

I scarcely think of my decision as I turn Prospero in the direction of Jefferson’s present lodgings. I ride up to his house, and as I dismount a servant approaches from the house. I hand the reigns to the servant and ask if the hour is too late.

“No, sir,” he says quietly, and I nod.

I head inside, greeted by another servant, or slave this time. She approaches curiously, much bolder, and more self-aware than the slaves my father kept. “You wish to see Master Jefferson?” she asks, and I nod.

“Very well, sir,” she says and turns, calling back, “He’s in his study reviewing some papers. I shouldn’t think he would mind the company.”

I follow her to a large door, and then she gives a knock, “Master Jefferson.”

“Yes, Sally, lamb?” he returns, and I raise a brow, realizing this must be his Sally Hemings.

“Sir, you’ve a guest,” she returns.

“Ah, yes, send them in, and prepare drinks for us, as late as it is in the evening, whiskey will do, and then you may take your leisure, my dear.”

She opens the door further for my entrance and Jefferson rises from the chair behind his desk. “Well, Mr. Laurens, this is a surprise. Hamilton mentioned your return would be tomorrow. I hope all is well with Angelica and the children,” he says, his eyes scrutinizing me, awaiting my reply.

“Yes, they are well,” I reply, and then sigh, “I needed the time to clear my head.”

“Really?” Jefferson says, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I imagine this need to clear your head may bear some relation to the man’s broken nose, then?”

I feel the heat rise up my neck and into my face. He laughs, “I seem to recall when I left that we were all in surprisingly good spirits. What happened Laurens?”

I consider what I should or shouldn’t say, and Sally comes in with a tray of two whiskeys, she serves me and then Jefferson, then she bows and leaves. I knock the drink back quick, wince at the burn of it.

“Sweet Jesus, Laurens, what happened?” he asks, and I’m surprised at the concern I detect, no trace of his usual arrogance.

“I am a man given to impulse and weakness, that Alexander would take advantage of it under the influence of his own weakness and passions was upsetting,” I respond.

Jefferson nods thoughtfully. “I see. Care to talk about it, or no?”

“I’ve resolved the situation with my wife,” I say, and then sigh. “I stopped Alexander before things could go too far.”

Jefferson snorts. “I should say so if his face is anything to judge by. I must admit there was quite a bit of speculation over Hamilton’s face and your sudden disappearance. He, surprisingly, offered very little explanation, and he has been quieter since your departure. I thought I should at least let you know, that he has gotten the votes.”

“He has that working in his favor, at least,” I mutter.

Jefferson gets up and hands me his drink. “You need this more than I do.”

I knock it back as well, feel his hand give my shoulder a squeeze. “It is not my place to judge these matters. While I find Hamilton an annoyance, I can concede his intelligence, as for you, given my correspondence with your wife, and what I have learned of you, I am an ally, a friend to you. I am honorable with my word, as most Southern gentlemen are. If you seek my confidence or counsel, I can promise discretion, given the knowledge we share of each other’s weaknesses. Just don’t expect me to attend every dinner party you host if Hamilton is there, I don’t give a damn how good your cobbler is.”

I laugh and retrieve the letter from my breast pocket to give to him. He raises a brow at me. “Angelica asked me to deliver this as she felt I would be swifter than a courier.”

“Did she now? Careful, Laurens, I think your wife likes me,” Jefferson adds with a toothy grin.

Given the two drinks, I’ve had and that his whiskey is strong, I give into impulse, and pull at my collar as I say, “Careful, sir, she bites.”

His eyes widen and a low whistle escapes him, “Hamilton may need to fear your wife more than your right hook, judging by that mark.”

“And there are more,” I reply with a snort.

“I now wonder if you really have equity in your household, or whether Angelica has a firm grasp over her dominion,” Jefferson says.

“Her grasp is firm,” I say with a lowly shake of my head. “She made sure I knew I was hers as soon as I arrived on Saturday. We very nearly missed dinner, actually.”

“Sir, I think it’s time for some water for you now, you’ve had your fill of whiskey, your tongue has grown too loose. Have you even eaten today?”

I shrug. “Not since this morning.”

“Come on, we’ll see what we can find in the kitchen, bread, and cheese work for you, or should I get Sally back down here?”

I shake my head. “Bread and cheese is fine. No need to disturb her after you’ve dismissed her for the evening.”

“Very well,” he says and leads me to his kitchen. The bread is out on the counter, and he finds the cheese in his pantry, giving me instruction on where to find a cup and the store of water. He cuts the bread, two fair-sized pieces, and sets the plate before me with a shrug. “Not your fancy meals, but I leave the cooking to women.”

“Just when I start to respect you, you have to be an ass,” I mutter, and his rich laughter fills the room, and it is comforting, eating bread and cheese, and just enjoying friendly company without expectation or the underlying struggle to withhold my weaknesses and impulse

He chooses to ignore my comment, “So, what should I expect tomorrow? I imagine you will be at the meeting tomorrow for the final vote?”

“Already?” I say with some surprise.

“Why delay when we’ve worked out our compromise?”

“Fair enough,” I reply, and then sigh. “I think it’s time I go home. See you in the morning, Jefferson, and… thank you.”

He nods, claps me companionably on the back, and laughs, “Hey, I know I have a reputation for certain things, but I take my honor and things said in confidence seriously. I’ll be sure and write back to Angelica tomorrow. If you need, the Democratic-Republicans can offer you a seat tomorrow.”

I snort, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not switching parties just because Alexander is an ass.” 

“Your loss,” Jefferson says with a shrug as he sees me to the door. I wait for the servant to retrieve my horse, mount him, and then head home.

Wednesday is awkward, to say the least. I take my usual seat by Alexander, but the tension between us is noticeable and I can feel Jefferson’s calculating gaze on us, offering sympathy to me with a nod, and adding to Alexander’s nervous energy and fidgeting.

As the meeting is called to a recess for lunch, Alexander finally addresses me, near stuttering in his nervousness at first before finally he says, “Join me at home for lunch?”

I nod and follow him outside. He doesn’t live far, his house further in the city than mine. We take the brisk walk and it isn’t long before we are in his home and being served a nice, thick vegetable soup and bread. Both of us choose water to drink rather than risk drinking, especially with a meeting to return to.

The meal begins awkwardly and I avoid looking at his face, already having inventoried the crooked nose and bruising beneath his eyes earlier that morning.

“What can I do to make this right?” he asks, halfway through the meal.

I look up and sigh, knowing it was coming and dreading the arrival. “I’ve confided my indiscretion with Angelica, she knows we had a moment or two of weakness, and that is all she knows, that is my part with you. I hope you’ve taken my advice and seen to taking care of the other circumstance. I’ve made peace with it; my wife and I are settled in our grievances. You still have me, you’re my closest friend, but I ask that you do not confide in me more than necessary your affairs with the woman I saw on Saturday.”

He considers my words for a moment and with a nod responds, “That is fair, I think.”

“Fair or not, please spare me that,” I reiterate.

“Okay,” he says, and then sighs. “So, how are Eliza and the children?”

I snort. “Taking the easy route, I see.”

He laughs. “I imagine Angelica is probably cross with me. I would rather ask about my wife and children, who are only annoyed and saddened by my having stayed behind for work.”

Choosing to hold back the vitriol I could hurt him with, and working toward righting the hurt between us, I tell him about my time spent with the children, how well Pipin and Lexi get along, and how Pip has improved his riding. I also give him news of his daughter Angelica, and Eliza, given her condition.

We fall into our usual comfort in our conversations, and while I still feel a pang of hurt and guilt, I know this, like so many other things has been resolved, suppressed, and while it hurts, can be dealt with, because I love him too much to lose him over his weakness. I’ll bear the hurt that I hope his dear Eliza will never know.

We spend the next several weeks working on putting to action his financial plan, and in that time, I notice a change in Alexander, an anxiousness, and decide to confront him on the matter.

“Dinner, tonight, I left instructions for Molly to set a meal for us,” I say to him as the meeting is adjourned for the day.

He nods stiffly. “I’ll go home, change, and will be there within the hour.”

He hastens away, and as I watch him, my eyes narrow in suspicion, Jefferson catches up to me.

“Seems you’ve resolved your friendship with Hamilton. Plans this evening? I was thinking you could join Jemmy and me for dinner and drinks. He has some questions for you regarding his parent’s estate.”

I shake my head. “Perhaps tomorrow. I have plans with Alexander. Something is bothering him and I mean to determine what it is. Would tomorrow evening work?”

“Yes, and should you need to talk, then I can recommend Jemmy join us on Monday instead?”

“That sounds agreeable,” I reply.

He nods and then, “Oh and I would like to make arrangements for you and your family to join me and the girls for dinner. They return in a fortnight, is that correct?”

“Yes, I think Angelica would enjoy that,” I reply.

“Good. Mary and Martha look forward to meeting your Alexandra and Andrew.”

We part and I head home to ready myself for dinner. Once I’m home I dismiss Molly for the evening and change for dinner. Alexander is on time, and I know he is bothered by something.

I watch as he eats with purpose, a testament to his upbringing that he eats in spite of his nervousness and fretting, a childhood of uncertainty over his next meal. I bite my lip, choosing not to mention it. Our meal is quiet, not entirely awkward, but also not entirely comfortable.

“What’s wrong, Alex? Something has been bothering you for weeks now, and Angelica, Eliza, and the children will return soon. I know it isn’t about the financial plan, we are making good progress on that end,” I say.

He sits back in his chair and then leans forward his head in his hands, and I hear his ragged breathing. “You were right John. My misdeeds do indeed bear a heavy price.”

My eyes widen and I reach out, grip his shoulder. “The woman, she is not with child?” I ask, fear quelling in my stomach.

He shakes his head and I am relieved at this much at least. “No, not with child. Her husband knows, and he has been extorting me for money. I’ve taken to paying him, our arrangement is quarterly. There is an agreement between us, and within a year I will be paid up for the services rendered of his wife. If I do not pay, he will tell Eliza. I feel that her seduction was a set-up, a machination of her husband’s design, but she is not innocent in her efforts, and I am not innocent in falling for it.”

“I see,” I reply, and shake my head. “Has the affair ended?”

“Yes, I ended it last week, after his third letter. I cannot… Eliza will be home soon, and I have so much to repent. She deserves better. Why… Why would I risk so much?” he asks.

I take in a breath and consider his earnest question. “You’ve never been satisfied, and when people leave you grow more restless than usual. This is just my observation; it is not cause for excuse. You owe her a great deal of remorse and repentance.”

“I owe you as well, John. It wasn’t decent of me, my behavior that night after Jefferson left. I know your affections for me, and you know my own affections… I should have had more restraint, but your growing closeness with Jefferson sets me on edge. Seeing how well you two get on, I fear that I might lose you. I can’t lose you, John. Of everyone I’ve lost and risk losing, your loss would steal away a part of me,” he says, and my heart aches at his sincerity when our eyes meet.

I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s not in me to leave you, not entirely. While we cannot share a life of lovers, I am yours in love, friendship, and brotherhood. I swear, as I have from the beginning, I could never leave you Alex. Am I friends now with Jefferson? Yes, but that does not mean I hold you in any less of a regard. Only two people hold my affections so tender, you and my dearest Angelica. My children hold the part of my heart that loves as a father, your own children have that part in my affections as well. Do not fear the loss of me, do not let those fears drive you to false affections with strangers. That will not end well, and should it ever be known, you risk devastating Eliza, causing embarrassment to your family.”

“Always,” he reaffirms, squeezing my hand back. I smile at him and then he pulls his hand away and continues, “This would hurt Eliza and the children. It also puts my legacy I am working toward at risk. I already know my reputation, what little I have is doomed. I don’t know what I was thinking. She approached me, so helpless, so seemingly scared, asking for help to separate herself and child from her husband. While I believe her fear was real, her seduction was… I tried to leave, I tried to go at first. I prayed for the strength and as always God failed me in the face of the temptation. I’m sorry, this is too much, you don’t want to hear this and I agreed not to discuss this with you.”

I sigh. “I ask that you disclose no more than necessary. Considering the change in circumstance of the situation, this has now become necessary. What is her name? Do you know if she still seeks separation from her husband? I ask for the sake of the child she has.”

“I believe she does, but in seeking a separation, if it is on the grounds of adultery then I risk exposure. I am unable to represent her, given a grave conflict of interest and my business with her husband,” he says, and then he whispers her name, “Maria Reynolds.”

“If she contacts you, seeks further assistance, or even your affections, recommend Burr as a solicitor, while your indiscretion may be exposed, our practice dictates client privilege, he would be unable to disclose the information without risking his practice. I would strongly caution you against meeting further with her. Given your present situation, this would look unfavorable as we work on establishing the national bank. You know that part of the compromise includes regular audits,” I reply.

Alexander nods and smiles warmly at me. “I do not know why you don’t come forward with your own intellect. Why do you confine yourself to my shadow, supporting me?”

“I have nothing to prove Alexander. I seek absolution for the sins of my father and my own failings, you are creating a legacy and are at the forefront of building a nation for our children. You were born for that infamy, I was not.”

“Do you think I will ever be satisfied?” he asks thoughtfully, and I bask in the calm in his tone.

“You were born hungry, Alexander. I imagine on your deathbed, after arguing with death himself, you may find satisfaction,” I say with a shake of my head, and then say, “Even if you write like you are running out of time, I will see to it you have as much time as you need to secure your legacy. As Washington says, ‘History has its eye on you.’”


	28. Revelations and the Reynolds Pamphlet

All is well until November 1792. Jefferson seeks me out after a meeting, and he looks thoughtful.

“How clean are Hamilton’s records?” he asks, and my eyes widen in surprise at the question.

“Impeccable,” I reply.

“And yours?” he asks.

“Jefferson, what are you asking exactly?”

He sighs. “Monroe is planning on calling together a meeting tonight, private, him and Congressmen Muhlenberg and Venable. Jemmy and I will be there as well. Hamilton is the guest of honor, and I am insisting you join us. Apparently, Monroe has come across some incriminating evidence against Hamilton. I’m warning you given our friendship. You needn’t fall from grace with Hamilton if you are an innocent party.” 

“That makes no sense. Alexander’s records are perfect, what kind of evidence, who’s the source?” I ask.

Jefferson considers for a moment and then with a nod says, “A man named Jacob Clingman.”

“Who?” I ask in confusion, being unfamiliar with the name.

“He was arrested for counterfeiting and speculation in the Revolution. Apparently, there is evidence of a link between his partner, a James Reynolds, I believe, and Hamilton.”

“Shit,” I hiss out and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“So, you do know something,” Jefferson counters, his eyes narrowed on me.

“It’s damning, but not incriminating. I’ll be there tonight. What time?”

“Eight,” Jefferson replies. “John, how much are you involved in this?”

“I’m not, at least not beyond Alexander’s confidence to me regarding Reynolds. I have no investment in the matter, and have not even met the man, though I am aware of the nature of his character.”

“I hope that is the case, Monroe is livid about this matter. He actually held Hamilton in some regard before he came across this incident.”

“I just hope that some discretion is taken into consideration with this course of events. Alexander will defend his reputation and the legacy he is working to secure.”

“I imagine he will have a lot to say. These accusations border on treasonous.”

“Thomas,” I say, still growing use to actually using his first name. “You know as well as I do, even as often as you disagree, Alexander is a patriot, he loves this country too much to commit treason. This country is a promise to his children.”

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I send a carrier with a message to Angelica that I will be out late tonight per Jefferson’s request. Given Jefferson’s concern, his invitation, and Alexander’s avoidance of me throughout the day, I decide to arrive on my own at Monroe’s residence. I cannot shake the feeling that I am about to walk into an ambush.

Upon my arrival, a servant leads me to a large study, and Monroe and the two congressmen look up. Monroe’s lips tighten.

“Laurens, I was not aware you had been informed of this meeting,” Monroe says, his voice cold.

“Take a drink, James,” Jefferson cuts in from across the room. “I invited him. I spoke with him earlier, and given his friendship with Hamilton, he will know the details of this meeting by tomorrow evening at any rate.”

Monroe gives a stiff nod, and he turns to speak quietly to Muhlenberg and Venable. It’s strange to see so much anger contained in stillness, so different from the constant motion of Alexander.

We do not wait long, as within ten minutes Alexander enters the study, looking around the room, and then his eyes widen in surprise at seeing me here.

“Right, now that we are all here, down to business,” Monroe says.

I watch the man interrogate Alexander, ruthless and unforgiving, reviewing Alexander’s financial records, questioning him about Jacob Clingman and the accusations, which confuse him, until the mention of Clingman’s partner James Reynolds.

Once that name is in the air, Alexander freezes, and he passes me a quick, feral look. Monroe looks coldly at Alexander and then says, “So then it is true. How long did they work for you?”

“They didn’t,” Alexander says, subdued by his shame. “I don’t even know this Clingman.”

“But you know Reynolds? Well enough to pay him 1,300 dollars?” Monroe snapped, and I see Jefferson perk up at this, given Alexander’s position as Secretary of Treasury. Before Jefferson can speak, Alexander takes in a breath, and he looks up, his dark gaze stormy. Shit.

“Every penny was my own, from my personal accounts. While my business with Reynolds is not a point of pride, it was all personal, and ended in July, sir.”

“July?” I manage and I see Alexander stiffen again, as he looks at me, “John, I’m sorry, I know I told you it was over at the end of last summer, but… He…”

“Later, Alex,” I say and he realizes we have an audience.

“No, this needs to be cleared up now or a formal hearing will be called,” Monroe threatens, and that is enough.

“I want your word that the people will not know what I am about to disclose in my defense,” Alexander snaps. “If I can prove that I never broke the law, do you promise not to tell another soul what I say, what I show you to attest my innocence.”

“Agreed,” they all say, and I remain silent, though Alexander already knows my loyalty.

Alexander pulls several papers from his bag, passing them out to everyone but me.

“Whaaat?” Jefferson says in surprise.

“James Reynolds’s wife, Maria… She courted me, escorted me to bed, and when she had me in a corner that’s when Reynold’s extorted me for a sordid fee. I paid him quarterly. I may have mortally wounded my prospects, but my papers are orderly. All of my records are clean, cleaner than my conscience. I never spent a cent that wasn’t mine. Yes, I have reasons for shame, but I have not committed treason and sullied that part of my good and patriotic name. Is this to your satisfaction?”

“To my satisfaction no, but orderly. You’ve explained yourself in accordance with the law.”

“I expect discretion,” Alexander says. “My wife needn’t know about this. The affair is ended, my association with Reynolds done. While I am 1,300 dollars poorer for it, for his silence and my wife’s happiness, every penny was worth that much.”

Monroe nods stiffly, “I had thought your character a higher caliber, Hamilton.”

Alexander takes in a harsh breath, and then Jefferson says, “Well, you are human after all.”

Alexander holds his head high and I approach him, drop my hand to his shoulder and give it a squeeze. I can feel his trembling. I look at everyone in the room and speak, “He is done here. The details of this affair should not leave this room. Each of you has your own failings, exposing his, when there is no legal cause, speaks more against your character than his. Come on, Alex, you look like you need a drink.”

Alexander gives a stiff nod and we leave, not a word spoken to stop us, and not a word spoken to assure the promise of discretion.

The affair remains quiet for five years, and then 1797, that cur James T. Callender, a libelous fool, comes across old records, questions Muhlenberg and Venable, and publishes _A History of the United States for Year of 1796_ , mentioning the scandal of Hamilton’s association with Reynolds.

“Alexander,” I call out to him, try to step in his way to stop his pacing. He is devastated and full of trembling, nervous energy.

“I’ll write my way out… I can’t have my reputation ruined. Damn them. Muhlenberg and Venable have spoken out, written retractions. Monroe denies leaking anything, but that damned Callender published parts of the letters… Monroe, that bastard!”

“Alex,” I say and grip his shoulders, he looks up at me, eyes as wild as the energy making his body shake. “You need to go home, talk to Eliza, salvage what you can.”

He shakes his head and sighs.

“Okay, well, I’m going home. Don’t confront anyone. Just, do the right thing, Alexander. Go home.”

I take my leave of him, and Angelica has questions, I tell her what I can, she knows I know more than I am saying, but she is patient, something that I am grateful for.

“What was the money for?” she asks.

“Angelica,” I grimace and sigh. “It is not my place to disclose his confidence, not even to you. He’s a damn fool, and he made a horrible error of judgment. Please, do not think I am defending him, his stupidity. I just, cannot betray what he told me in confidence. Please do not hold his indiscretions against me.”

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, and then sighs as she asks, “Will it hurt Eliza?”

I nod, and she takes in a sharp breath. I reach for her hand and pull her to me. “I’m sorry. If I could undo this I would.”

“It’s not your place to undo this. He made this choice, not you,” she says and leans up, presses her lips to mine, and I am grateful for her intelligence, her strength, in the wake of this growing storm.

She pulls back. “Should I keep the papers from Lexi and Andrew?”

I nod, and she embraces me, sensing my exhaustion and running her fingers through my tangled curls in an effort to comfort me, and this is the first time that I find sharing Alexander’s guilt to be burdensome.

Two weeks later on a Friday morning, following my recovery of a cold and fever, Angelica wakes me up to tell me that Jefferson has joined us for breakfast and wishes to speak with me in the study first.

I am quick to dress and find Jefferson has made himself at home, sitting cross-legged on the chaise, sipping delicately on a glass of orange juice.

He raises his glass and says, “You’ve seen better days. I had heard you’d taken ill and missed a few days from the office. I wanted to check on you and warn you.”

“Warn me?” I ask.

He nods, and then, “Hamilton is a fool. I’ve never seen somebody ruin their own life before. Leave it to him to be the first.”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

He picks up the pamphlet at his side and holds it out to me. I see Alexander’s name as the author and turn to the first page, “The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds! For purposes of improper speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent…”

“Shit,” I manage in utter disbelief, flipping through and reading random pages.

“I’ll say. 100 pages in all. Dates, details, disbursement of funds, everything, all there. One less thing for me to worry about, he’s never gone be President now. That aside, I’m sorry John, he’s a damn fool,” Jefferson says, and then he stands, puts a comforting hand on my shoulder as he says quietly, “He’s not a complete fool though, he never once mentions you nor your knowledge of any of this. Even when he’s falling apart, given his missive against Adams and now this, he is still protecting you.”

“That is not the consolation you had hoped it to be,” I reply dryly.

Jefferson shrugs. “Consolation typically falls short.”

“I will need to go into the office today given this. What was he thinking?” I groan.

Jefferson snorts, “As smart as he is, he’s too passionate, lets that cloud his reasoning.”

“He did this to preserve his legacy,” I attempt to defend.

“At the cost of ruining his family,” Jefferson replies gently, and sighs. “He’s rivaled all of my scandals and rumors to date. Is he always so eager to out do everyone? I know he loves hearing himself talk and proving he’s the smartest in the room, though this would be contrary to that belief. Fair warning, Laurens, Angelica snatched this from my hand earlier, has seen it, and she knows.”

Shit.

Breakfast is awkward, extremely awkward.

Lexie and Andrew squabble for a bit, and then Lexie asks for the paper, all of fourteen, and she enjoys staying current with events.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’,” Jefferson says, and at a glare from my wife, he quickly recovers. “You know, Martha and Mary were asking after you last night. Think you could join us for dinner this evening?”

Lexi looks excited, and Andrew rolls his eyes.

“I think that would be nice Mr. Jefferson,” Lexi says and then turns to me, “Daddy?”

“I see no problem, Angelica?”

Angelica nods and then looks at Andrew, “Are you still staying over with Pip?”

Andrew nods. “Yes, he wanted to show me his new horse”

“That sounds like fun. I think I’ll join you this evening, and have a good visit with Eliza,” Angelica says.

I nod, immediately understanding. She intends to stay with Eliza tonight given the circumstances.

“Laurens, care to join me for a drink this evening?” Jefferson asks, looking not so subtly in my direction.

“That sounds like a plan,” I say, as we finish up breakfast and I take my leave with Jefferson, we take his carriage to the office.


	29. Burn

I take my leave of Jefferson, with an agreement to join him at his house at around seven. I have an estate case to audit, and as I enter the building I take in a deep breath. I head to my shared office and Alexander is already there. Perhaps he hasn't even been home yet, judging from his disheveled appearance.

He is asleep at his desk. As much as I want to shake him hard and berate him, I sigh and give his shoulder a gentle shake. He startles and as his tired, dark eyes focus on me, he draws in his bottom lip, and then he's up and his arms wrap around me, he clings to me, his tears falling to my coat. I wrap my arms around him in turn, allowing him to find some relief in his grief in my embrace.

When we part I go and lock the doors. He is in no condition to work. When I return, he is seated, still and this stillness alarms me.

"When was it published?" I ask, not yet ready to ask why.

"It was published Wednesday and released yesterday. I imagine that Eliza has read it, and Philip and my little Angelica, by now. I needed to secure my legacy, and in doing so I fear I have ruined their lives. It is my shame, and yet I realize too late that they will bear it as well."

I shake my head in the weight of his sorrow, and he looks up at me, tears brimming in his eyes, "When did you get a copy?"

"This morning, Jefferson came to tell us," I replied.

"Jefferson," he snorts.

"If it is of any consequence, he tried to prevent Callender from publishing. He kept his word from that night. This was not his fault."

"I'm certain it was Monroe, on his moral high horse," Alexander says with a snarl.

"What were you thinking, Alexander? Your legacy is as much the national bank and your place in our Nation's history as it is your children," I reply.

"I know that now, but I thought…. Every other time I faced a problem I wrote my way out of it. I wrote my way out of the Caribbean, I wrote my way into the Revolution, I wrote my way into marrying Eliza, I wrote my way into creating a national banking system. I wrote my way out of hell over and over, and yet, with so much at stake… I…"

"Have you faced Eliza yet?" I ask.

"No. I'm not ready to go home and face that yet," he says, and as the door rattles we look and seeing Eliza there, the pain in her expression enough to floor me, and I get up to get the door and let her in, and I leave the office to stand outside, far enough to give them some semblance of privacy, but close enough to hear their exchange.

"I've been rereading the letters you've written me over the years. Looking for signs of when you were mine and when you pulled away from me. You write palaces from paragraphs, and how much of it was true, Alexander? Every letter you wrote me made me burn and ache for you, fall more and more in love with you.

"Now this, you published the letters she wrote you, brought her into our bed, and you've told the whole world. In clearing your name you've ruined our lives, did you think of me at all, think of our children? I left the children with Angelica and before I left, she told me that I'd married an Icarus and you've flown too close to the sun."

"Eliza, Betsy… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you or our children. What can I do to make this right?" he asks and I imagine he approaches her, and then I hear a smack, and I believe that Alexander has finally encountered that Schuyler woman fire.

"Eliza?"

"No more. You take and take, and sometimes you give us a piece of your time, but no more. You've taken all of my heart and you've broken it, and you've tried to put it out there for all the world to see. No, not this, not MY heart. I've burned your letters; I don't need them. We will remain married for the children, and maybe one day I might forgive you, but for now, you are done with the marriage bed. I am erasing myself from your narrative. I don't owe the world my heartbreak. Sleep here, or in your study at home, do not dare return to my bed. You have forfeited my heart and our bed, and I hope you burn, Alexander Hamilton, I hope you burn like all of your letters to me."

She doesn't wait for his response, she quits his office, sees me leaning against the wall in the hallway, and I see her tears, but I know she will retreat home and Angelica will care for her where I cannot.

I return to the office, see him in his chair, his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands. I clear my throat and he turns to me, a handprint on his left cheek. He still seems astonished, and I can tell his hurt from her words has injured him deeply.


	30. Duel at Dawn

It takes nearly two years for Alexander to regain Eliza’s forgiveness. Two years of treading carefully at home and throwing himself into his work and children. Adam’s administration nearly destroys him, especially when he loses his position as Secretary of Treasury, but he is still an adviser of the National Bank and we still practice law.

It is November 1801, as I prepare a lecture for the class I am teaching at King’s College on law, a wry smile on my face that I am teaching law, when Alexander has always been the true scholar between us, but so far, I am enjoying the position. It has also brought me close to Philip, who has taken it upon himself to adopt my own Lexi as his favorite baby sister. I needn’t worry about suitors given his closeness to her. Then again, Lexi has the temperament of her mother, and often I find that she and Philip study together, while she cannot attend King’s College, she still receives the knowledge through Philip’s guidance and questioning me relentlessly.

My Andrew is pursuing his own ventures, finding himself drawn to horses and working for a large stable near my offices. It’s honest work, pleases him, and he does well with breaking particularly spirited animals. He reminds me of myself, younger and in South Carolina. His happiness reassures me, and should he find himself a horseman, and it pleases him, then so be it.

Of course, as I review my notes for the lecture I plan for Monday, Philip rushes in and goes straight to his father’s office. It is late in the evening, but Philip often visits the office, still this is unusual in that he usually greets me and speaks with me before his father, given he must pass my office to get to his father’s. Separate offices became a necessity when I took the position of law professor at King’s College, something Alexander still teases me for.

Philip is animated, so much like his father, but the words are muffled through the door. I don’t hear Alexander’s responses, but Alexander has calmed considerably in regaining his Eliza’s affections again. Philip continues to rant and then their conversation quiets. My eyes widen at the sight of Philip leaving the office with the satchel know, to contain Alexander’s pistols.

I rise to my feet; lecture be damned and forgotten. I enter Alexander’s office, he is pacing, and shaking his head, and I clear my throat to gain his attention.

“Why did Philip leave with your guns?” I ask, bracing myself.

Alexander sighs. “He’s been challenged to a duel. I couldn’t talk him out of it, and so I gave him what advice I could.”

“Who challenged him and what advice did you give?”

“It was a classmate from school, I think. I told him his mother cannot stand another heartbreak, that taking a life is too heavy a burden to bear, and I told him to aim high,” Alexander says, worry in his eyes.

“Who was it, did he give you a name?” I ask, my stomach coiling in fear.

“Eacker?”

“George Eacker?” I manage, recalling how Eacker had spoken against Alexander earlier in the week. Knowing Eacker’s less than honorable reputation for starting conflict.

“And what experience do you have in advising Philip in the way of duels, other than being the cause of them?” I snap.

Alexander flinches at that. “Where is it to take place?”

“New Jersey, Weehawken, tomorrow at dawn,” Alexander responds, and then he swallows thickly in nervousness. “Most duels end without a single shot being fired—”

“And when has that ever been the case with you, Alex?”

“I… He won’t listen to me, John. He’s determined. He’s too much like me,” Alexander nearly pleading, the worry evident in his tone.

“Yes, the Hamilton pride may get the pair of you killed one day,” I grind out, pinch the bridge of my nose, and then sigh.

“Go home to Eliza, don’t alarm her. Hold all of your children close. I will see him home safely in the morning. I swore to myself the first time I ever saw him I would give my life for his. You needn’t worry. He will come home to you,” I say, as the calm washes over me.

“John… I… I… thank you,” he says, closing his eyes in relief and in shame.

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t be so quick to thank me. You will be the one to explain this to my wife.”

He blanches at the thought, having learned quite well the Schuyler women’s fire.

I take my leave of the office, make haste home. Once I’m home Lexi hurries to me fretting. “Daddy, do you know?”

I sigh. “Yes, I do. Foolish of me to think that if it involves your dearest cousin, that you wouldn’t. Don’t worry, I will see him home tomorrow, and he and I will have a long talk, and then you can do your worst, because I know he fears your ire the most.”

“I cannot promise that his face will be entirely intact when I’m done,” she hisses, and I nod.

“Just don’t tuck your thumb in your fist, darlin,” I reply with a smirk.

She snorts. “You forget father, I am not Andrew.”

I wince and shrug, remembering that sparring lesson, and getting hell for allowing Lexi to break dear Andrew’s nose. I honestly allowed no such thing…

“Where’s your mother?”

She worries her lip between her teeth, a habit from her mother. “She’s with Auntie Liza, and given what I know Philip has agreed to… I have your pistols ready. You’ll bring him home?”

I embrace my daughter, her head right at my chin. I shift my head and press a kiss to her head. “Of course, and then your Uncle Alex will explain all of this to your mother.”

Lexie winces, but then nods in understanding.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispers, and I reply, “I love you too, my sweet Lexi. We’ll be home in the morning. I promise, and I’ve never broken a promise to you, have I, my dear girl?”

“Don’t start now,” she whispers as we part. I nod in affirmation, pull her to me, and place a reassuring kiss to her forehead as she gives me the satchel with my guns. Tonight promises to be a long one.

I decide to make my way to the place for the duel. New Jersey, everything is legal in New Jersey. Once I’ve crossed the Hudson I stop by a small tavern, knock back a single shot of whiskey, and then I make my way to the place. I sit at the base of a tall tree, let my head fall back against the trunk, seeing the stars above.

I take in a shaky breath, thinking about Alexander, his passion, his pride, his strengths, and faults, and I pray that there is more of Eliza in Philip, enough of Eliza to keep that boy alive. I remember his tiny face the first time I saw him, how he gripped my finger, so strong, and his eyes alight with a hunger for learning. So much like his father, too much like his father, I fear.

I’m lost to my thoughts as the sky begins to light, a gray cast, and I notice five men approaching. I rise to my feet, hearing Philip, detecting the nervousness in his voice. I make my approach.

“Gentleman,” I say, and Eacker, looks up, arrogant, brazen, curious about my presence.

“Mr. Laurens,” he acknowledges. “What brings you here?”

“Uncle John?” Philip says, and then Eacker says, “Ah, so that’s it. I didn’t know you were related to the Hamiltons.”

I narrow my eyes on Eacker, insufferable, a loud mouth, a reputation for troublemaking.

“This ends now. There will be no duel,” I say sharply.

Eacker snorts. “When Hamilton concedes I will consider it done. His father is a scoundrel and a cur, his son does not stray far from that description.”

He is surprised as his head snaps back from the impact of my fist. His second reaches to steady him. Eacker’s anger rises, and his glare locks with my cold gaze, and I detect the first trace of his fear.

“No one needs to die here, but if you insist on a duel, then accept my challenge. I should warn you, son, that I am a gifted marksman and I fought in the Revolution. Have you come here prepared to die?” I ask him, my tone firm.

Eacker curls his lip, but his cowardice wins. “Very well, this is done.”

I nod briskly. “Good, and I expect that you will keep the name of all of the Hamiltons out of your mouth. I would also encourage you to withdraw from my class, given this new conflict of interest between us. Should you find yourself in similar circumstances in the future I will personally see to your prosecution. I have friends in high places, Eacker. I suggest you make yourself very scarce. Talk less, cower more.”

He gives a stiff nod, and then he, his second, the doctor and Philip’s second depart. Philip is staring at me in shock, and worry.

“Uncle John?” he asks, hesitance in his tone.

I raise my gaze to his and he flinches. I then approach him, and feel him exhale harshly in surprise as I jerk him into an embrace. I hold him tightly, reassuring myself that he is alive, this boy that means as much to me as my own children. I am relieved by every exaltation of his breath, and I clap him on the back as we part.

“Never again, Philip. Your father’s pride is damning enough. He is old enough and capable of fighting his own battles over honor. He’s a damn fool and I told him as much last night. You are smarter than this, you promise me that this will never happen again, son, never again. Your mother, and even your stubborn father, would never recover the loss of you, neither would I,” I say quietly, and tears trail his face as he nods stoically.

“I just… I thought it was behind us, everything with the whole Reynolds affair and he called out father and… Why does that still linger, why does it still follow us? Mother has forgiven him, though how…” Philip says, his hurt evident.

I sigh. “Life is complicated, and your father is a man, Philip. I know the hurt of that discovery. That doesn’t mean he loves you any less. He has regrets, has made mistakes, a lot of them in fact, but he will always choose his family, you, your mother first. Will he falter, yes, but that is when you talk to him, work out your grievances. Dying is easy, living is harder, but it is worth it, Philip. Living is always worth it.”

“So… you’re not angry with me?” he asks, seemingly in fear of my disappointment.

“No,” I say, “Angry at your father for his ill advice yes, but not angry at you. I suppose you will face enough anger when I get you home. By now your mother knows, and Angelica, and Lexi is waiting for you. She had my guns at the ready last night when I went home.”

I chuckle at his wince when I mention my daughter.

“How angry is she?” he asks

I laugh. “You know her temper.”

His shoulders slump at this, and I throw my arm across them. “She will be pleased to see you alive, but I would brace for the worst.”

“Of all the things you’ve taught her, did fighting have to be one of them?” he asks with a whine.

“I don’t know about you, and maybe when you are a father one day, you will understand, but I feel that a woman should be just as capable of defending herself as any man.”

“This will be from anger, not defense, Uncle John,” he says dryly, fixing me with a woeful side glance.

Within a couple of hours, we are at the door of the Hamilton household. Philip is fidgeting, nervous energy thrumming. He looks at me for reassurance as the door is flung open and my daughter rushes him. I catch him as he falls back from the force of her right hook.

His hands immediately cover his nose. I wince, and then she grapples him into a hug, and his watering eyes look to me for assistance.

“Lexi, let him go. I need to fix his nose,” I say with a hint of pity.

Once she lets him go, I turn him to face me, grasp his nose between my hands, and snap it back into place.

“Shit!” he shouts, and that is when Eliza joins us, fretting over him, asking him if he is okay, and Alexander is there too and Angelica.

“There’s blood, what happened?” Eliza says, fretting over Philip, inspecting him for injury.

“Lexi’s fist, Ma, she broke my nose,” Philip manages, his voice thick with pain and his swollen nose.

“If that is your only injury then consider it a blessing,” Eliza scolds, and I nod in agreement, my respect for this incredible woman rising again. She then looks at me, and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears and relief. “Thank you for bringing him home to me John. Thank you.”

Then her gaze shifts to Alexander. “You knew about this,” she snaps, and then her hand finds firm purchase against his cheek, and I think, perhaps I should teach her how to make a proper fist, in this moment, Alexander certainly deserves it.

With that she gathers her son to her, and leads him into the house. Angelica and Lexi join them, and Angelica looks at me over her shoulder. “Thank you, I love you,” she mouths to me, and at least I’m in a favorable position right now.

As Alexander recovers himself, I sigh, and say, “I made him promise never again. He’s home, he’s alive, he’s well, now come on, I think we could both could use a drink right now.”

He nods his agreement, gingerly rubbing his cheek as we walk together to the tavern.


	31. A Toast to the Bride, A Toast to the Groom (Reprise)

Philip has taken to visiting Lexi more often in the past few years, practically moving in with us, and joining him is a young man, dark skin and dark eyes, reserved, but intelligent, named Edmund Livingston. Alexander has spoken of Livingston and his intellect, and has also entertained me with rumors that Livingston is in fact Aaron Burr's illegitimate son. Given the rumors, timeline, and Burr's reputation, this is entirely possible.

Still I know a man from similar means who has played a major role in founding our nation, and stealing my heart. I have admonished Alexander more than once over his apparent hypocrisy in judging the young man who has been wholly respectful in my home and is a good friend to Philip and to Lexi.

Of course, it is a Tuesday when I fear that I should have paid more attention to Alexander as he'd warned of apples not falling too far from trees and sins of the father.

Angelica rolls over as she begins to wake, pressing her lips to mine and I smile, accepting the affection, even while suspecting there is motive for it. I open my eyes lazily and her dark eyes lock with mine. "You'll join us this weekend?"

I sigh, and then nod, the retreat to Philip's upstate home. She is leaving with Lexie and Andrew after lunch.

"So, which of them will I be waking up this morning?" I ask with a groan.

She grins. "Lexie, she is not as abrasive with you as she is with me."

I nod in agreement, and we make short order of dressing and readying ourselves for the day. I am pleased Angelica had packed up the trunks last night, one less thing.

Angelica makes quick work of waking Andrew and they head downstairs. Angelica to begin cooking breakfast, I will be taking care of lunch, and Andrew is probably off to the stables to tend the horses.

With a yawn and a sigh, I brace myself as I reach Lexi's door. I give a quick rap with my knuckle, hear some scuffling and whispers, one voice decidedly masculine, and then I take charge and throw open the door.

At my entrance the young man, Livingston, trips from the bed to the floor and I see far more of him than I ever had need too. Lexi has the bedclothes pulled up around her as the poor young man works into his breeches, terror evident on both of their faces, her face and neck flushed red, making her freckles, similar to mine, stand out.

"I… um, Mr. Laurens," the poor boy says as he gets to his feet, his breeches barely secured, yanking on his shirt, the garment inside out, and Lexi follows up with, "Daddy…"

I take in a deep breath, recalling when Philip Schuyler once told me how daughters test the health and temperament of their fathers. Damn the man for being right.

I enter, close the door behind me and sit down in one of the chairs in the room. I pull my left ankle over my right knee, point to the chair across the room from me, for Livingston and hold up my hand in Lexi's direction to let her know I would rather she stay where she is.

I turn to Lexi; I pull my lips tight for a moment and then I speak. "Will he make you happy?"

I see the surprise in her eyes at my question. She nods, and says, "He already has Daddy. We were married in secret last night."

I cock my head to the side, and I try to hold in the laughter. Philip Schuyler is either going to kill me or take the piss out of me for the rest of my life. I can't hold back and just burst into laughter. This prompts my daughter to find her night dress and come to my aid, probably thinking I've lost my mind, and poor Livingston looks fairly ashen, wondering how long he has before I make my daughter a widow.

"Daddy?" she asks, unsure as she approaches me. I take her hand, turn it over and press a kiss to her palm, then I get up and pull her into an embrace.

"You were raised to be smart enough and capable enough to make your own decisions. While I am disappointed that I was not there to see you accept a husband, and I was not there to give you away, if this makes you happy, then this is okay. That is all I want for you and for Andrew, your happiness, that is all the legacy I care about," I reply.

She hugs me back tightly, and then I add, "Besides I should have expected this to be my luck considering I robbed your grandfather the opportunity to see your mother and I married."

She looks at me in confusion. "What?"

"On the night that your Uncle Alexander and Aunt Eliza got married, after we toasted them, me, the best man ran off with the maid of honor and we eloped near dawn. It was quite the scandal at the time. Best decision I ever made, taking your mother for a wife."

"Really?" she asks, and then grins, "Is that why Grandpapa gives you such a hard time?"

"Part of it. I also bested him in a drinking contest once," I reply with a grin, and then I look over at my son-in-law, my grin growing to display my teeth. "Welcome to the family son, expect to get to know me very well. You've your work cut out for you, she is fiercely independent and raised in a house of equity. Also, good luck with her mother, you two need to get dressed and come downstairs, the both of you can have the pleasure of telling her."

I leave them to prepare themselves and go downstairs. I join Angelica in the kitchen, and given the occasion I think that juice is in order, and I take several oranges from the crate Angelica had intended to take to her father's, given that they are his favorite.

"Hey, you know those are for my father," she scolds.

I kiss her and say, "I'll pick up a crate and bring it with me Saturday. This will be a nice treat for breakfast."

She narrows her eyes in suspicion, but lets it go. With a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice, I pull down the good glasses. Then I have an idea. I step out to find a courier and send off a missive to Alexander to let him know I am leaving with Angelica to go upstate. I want to see the old man's face at the news.

Soon Angelica, Andrew, and I are at the table. Lexi peaks into the dining room, and I lean back in my chair, looking at Lexi expectantly, while her mother's brows rise.

"Okay, enough, what is going on?" Angelica snaps, and that is when Livingston, bless him, steps out to stand next to Lexi, and given that his father is probably Burr, I have to admire his bravery.

Angelica tilts her head, her lips tight, nostrils flared, and dark eyes narrowed. She manages to give me a little side eye, and Andrew snickers, but is silenced when Angelica shoots him a glare before returning her focus to our daughter and Livingston.

"Edmund, when did you ride up?" she asks.

I snort in amusement and receive the promise of that familiar Schuyler woman fire.

"My dearest, compassionate…" she cuts me off quickly.

"Momma, I… uhh…" Lexi starts, and I chuckle and then outright start laughing.

"Dammit, John, spit it out!" Angelica snaps, hating that she is missing something.

I get to my feet and take my glass of orange juice, raise it up and say, "A toast to the bride and to the groom, may you be as happy as your mother and I are."

"What?!" Angelica shouts and then she's on her feet, shoving away a sickly-looking Livingston and grappling our daughter into a rough hug.

When she pulls back, she eyes Livingston up and down and says, "Make her happy."

That a threat lingers following her words to him is evident. She then takes both of their hands and pulls them to the table, runs to the kitchen for a plate for Livingston. Once we are all seated, Lexi and Livingston looking bewildered, Andrew speaks up, "So does this mean I can avoid the whole wedding thing too?"

"Absolutely not!" Angelica snaps and fixes him with a glare. "It is tradition in this family that the second born has a formal wedding."

He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest and glares at his sister, "Lexi, you completely ruined all of my future wedding plans."

"Andrew, how is Prospero looking?" I ask, eying him over my glass.

"He's good, I rechecked his shoes this morning," he replies, and I nod.

"Good, would it be too much to saddle him up for me after lunch?"

"No," he says, and I smirk.

Angelica gives me that side eye and groans. "Really? My dearest, consternation…" she says shaking her head.

"Oh, I plan to enjoy every moment of this given how long it took me to win over your father's respect. Granted I'll take some of the piss," I say, and then looking at Livingston. "Edmund, you will be joining us. I'll see that your mother is notified by courier, or I can make arrangements for her to join us. I'll also see to helping you arrange a household, and we will talk about your prospects. You have a year yet at King's College, is that right?"

He nods, and then sighs. "Yes, sir. That's right."

"Will Burr still cover the cost considering this hasty wedding?" I ask.

He pauses for a moment and then nods. "He's good to my mother and me. He would finish out my tuition. Would perhaps even offer something towards building a household."

I nod, and do not miss the distaste on Angelica's face at the mention of Aaron Burr.

"Very well then, you'll join us, and we can return to my office on Monday to work on your housing arrangements, and you may call me John, son, we're family now, and I know you to be a mostly respectable fellow, your present situation with my daughter notwithstanding. Alexander can write up the announcement to be published next week…" I pause at the sight of the young man suddenly weeping, and Lexi turns to him, trying to comfort him. I get up and put a hand on his shoulder.

He looks up, looking embarrassed. Angelica joins me, her arm around my waist as we look at him.

"I… I wasn't expecting kindness. I know you are good people, but with my circumstance growing up, but I love Alexandra, and I thought it would be the only chance I had to be with her… I meant no disrespect, and I never thought you would be so accepting," he manages, his voice cracking with emotion.

Angelica and I share a look. "We understand, and as long as you love her and she loves you and the both of you are happy, this is a blessing. You both have our blessing."

Angelica takes up her own glass of juice and holds it up, her eyes meeting mine as she smiles and says, "A toast to the groom. A toast to the bride, from your mother. I will always be by your side. To your union and the hope that you provide and may you always, always be satisfied."

She takes a sip from the glass and then I pull her into an embrace, kissing her, and as we part, my forehead against hers, I whisper, "And here we are, full circle, my heart intact, our family happy and growing, and still very much your husband, your love."


	32. Duel at Dawn (Reprise)

We have been home from our visit with Philip Schuyler for a week, and now I review the missive from Jefferson, having received word from Judge Nathaniel Pendleton that Alexander has requested he be second in a duel as he was challenged by Aaron Burr. According to the letter the challenge is set for dawn. I dismiss the weary courier. 

Angelica looks down at me from the stairs. “John, what is it?”

I swallow thickly. If I ride out now, hire a boat to cross the Hudson, I can be there ahead of the dawn. I know, given this news, sleep will not take me. 

“Angelica, I don’t have time. Hurry, bring me my guns, and my coat. I need to hurry,” I manage. 

Her eyes meet mine in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“There is no time. I will tell you tomorrow when I come home. Make haste, Alexander’s life is at stake. See to Eliza in the morning, but do not alarm her. I will see him home safely, the damn fool,” I manage. 

Once she’s brought me my things, I give her the letter, and I hear her gasp as I leave the house and hurry to the barn. I make quick work of readying my horse. Once at the docks I offer double a normal fee to cross the river, upon reaching the New Jersey shore, I make my way to the location disclosed in Jefferson’s letter. This errand so similar to one I’d rather not recall from a few short years earlier.

I check my pocket watch; I have an hour before Alexander and Burr arrive. I know why he would seek Pendleton as a second. He knew if he’d asked me, I would find a way to talk him out of this insanity. I imagine Pendleton, in seeking a way to avoid being called as a witness had confided in Jefferson in the hopes of an intervention of some kind. 

I check my pistols, they are clean, loaded and ready. I am pulled from my thoughts as the men approach. Burr and his second, William Van Ness, and Alexander and Pendleton, with a doctor in tow. I make my presence known, and snatch Alexander’s arm, startling him. 

“What the hell, Alexander?” I snarl. He winces, and Burr snorts. 

“Of course, you would have to be a part of this,” Burr says. 

I turn a sharp glare in his direction, “Stay out of this.”

“He accepted my challenge,” Burr replies, anger and arrogance in his tone. 

“Alexander, I will not allow you to go through with this. What about your family? You’ve risked enough in a lifetime and Burr is not worth all of this! Your goddamned pride is not worth this!” 

“All I have is my honor, what I’ve worked so hard to establish. I leave them a legacy, and you know my skill and marksmanship, John,” he replies. 

“No, Alexander,” I snarl, and then turn to the other men. “I will take his place, I will accept the challenge for his honor, Is this agreeable, Van Ness, Burr?”

I notice the nervousness that rises in Burr’s face. He’s seen me in a duel before, was Charles Lee’s second. That nervousness may work against me. 

Burr gives a nod to save face, but I am not looking forward to facing down a nervous man with a gun, even if he is known as a poor shot. Desperation does strange things to a man. 

“No, I can fight my own battles, Laurens!”

“I won’t see you take the chance to make your wife a widow.”

“Why John? Why are you interfering? I didn’t tell you for this reason!”

“I told you once, long ago, I would always give my life for yours. I promised you time, time to live, to create a legacy, to have a family. I promised my life to you, for you. If you die, I will follow you,” I say softly, and he is stunned to quiet and stillness. 

I take advantage of Alexander’s state of shock and call over Pendleton and Van Ness to inspect my pistols, see if they are approved for the duel, each clean and carefully loaded with bullet and gunpowder. 

Burr is looking at me in calculation, and then he looks past me. A moment later I am forcefully spun around by Alexander, he clasps my face in his hands, his forehead against mine as he takes in a shaky breath as he whispers, “You mean more to me than this.” 

He then pulls back from me and steps in front of me protectively, “I concede. Whatever it is you wish to accomplish today Burr; it’s done. Whatever you think of me, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Just like that? So easily you concede defeat?” Burr replies, perplexed, and then for the first time I’ve ever seen in all my years of knowing him, anger floods the man. “You even deny me this? All you’ve taken from me, every success, every accolade, everything! This is how you see this end? You owe me a fight Hamilton! You fucking owe me a fight!”

Alexander and I turn to look at Burr as his anger overwhelms him and then he is rushing Alexander, and Alexander takes the brunt of the force, landing on his back as Burr unleashes his fury, fists pounding Alexander’s face and torso. After the initial shock wears off I began to try and separate them, Alexander is getting hits in as well as they roll and fight, and between me, Pendleton and Van Ness we manage to separate the pair, both of them looking worse for the wear, bloody faces, dirty, bruised, Burr even spitting a part of a broken tooth to the ground, eyes and jaws swelling between the two. 

An unspoken agreement is shared between Pendleton, Van Ness and me. I keep my hold on Alexander and they keep their hold on Burr. Alexander is struggling against me, but with a word from me his struggles lessen, though his glare is still fixed on Burr. 

“Is it settled then?” I ask, fixing a warning gaze on Burr. 

He takes in a breath, and nods, Pendleton and Van Ness release him, and then I look to Alexander, back to being still. “I’m satisfied,” he says, and I can’t help myself as a laugh breaks loose and I throw my arms around Alexander, glad that the duel is over. Glad that a stray bullet hasn’t ended my life by ending Alexander’s. 

“Have the doctor see to Burr. I’ll take Alexander back across the river and see to his injuries. Pendleton, see that my pistols are returned to me later this evening.” 

Leaving the men in the field, I lead Alexander to the river. It doesn’t take long to secure passage back across the river. I stop by the stable near the dock to pick up Prospero. I get on first, and Alexander, too weary to care, gets on behind me. He holds onto me loosely as I make my way to his home, knowing that Angelica and the children are already there, awaiting word, and seeking to comfort Eliza. 

Once we canter up to the house, Angelica and Eliza rush out of the house, both gasp as they notice Alexander slumped against me. Philip appears behind his mother and helps me get his father down, and then I dismount. Alexander has passed out. 

“Hurry let’s get him inside, Angelica, fetch a doctor. I didn’t realize he’d been injured so badly,” I say, as Eliza begins to cry. 

We make it upstairs to the master bedroom, and Philip and I lower Alexander to the bed. I make quick work of removing his clothing as gently as I can as Eliza enters the room, fretting, and by Alexander’s side. 

“Was he… was he? There’s no blood other than his face, surely he wasn’t shot?” she asks tearfully.

I shake my head, and take in a harsh breath at the sight of the bruises already forming on Alexander’s right side, his ribs and abdomen. The evidence of Aaron Burr’s ire, hatred, and strong left arm. I gently press along Alexander’s ribs, suspecting some broken ribs, which would explain the raggedness in Alexander’s breathing, and then, in his unconscious state he says, “John, mon amour, ma vie, tu ne peux pas partir, tu ne peus pas mourir.”

Eliza gasps and Philip takes a step back from the bed, staring between his father and I, and I am glad that the other children are not present in the room. 

“What… Uncle John…why does he call you his love, his life? Why is he afraid you would die?” he looks at me, questions in his dark eyes, and Eliza cries harder, Philip goes to her side, holding her tightly to comfort her. 

I look at Eliza and Philip, trying to find the words to explain this, and I’m not sure how long we are like this before Angelica arrives with the doctor. Once the doctor arrives, I try to get up, planning to leave the room to brace myself for the explanation that I owe Eliza and Philip, but in his distress at the doctor examining him, Alexander grabs my hand and holds fast, whimpers when I try to pull away and I can no longer part from him.

Eliza has calmed, her eyes seem to hold some kind of acceptance, Philip’s eyes rise up from my hand holding his unconscious father’s hand to my eyes. I have a lot to answer for, I think as I kneel down by the bed, resigned to Alexander’s evident, subconscious need of me. Angelica is shifting her gaze from me and Alexander to her sister and our nephew. Angelica and Eliza’s father, thankfully, has already come to take the younger children while we see to Alexander’s care. 

When the doctor is finished, he tells us that Alexander has a concussion, four broken ribs on his right side, the busted lip and black eye are obvious, and the cut over his right eyebrow needs a few sutures. 

The doctor works around my hand clasped with Alexander’s, raises no question, just tends to his work. We are all quiet once the doctor advises us on wrapping Alexander’s ribs, when he will most likely wake, and leaves a bottle of laudanum for the pain. 

Finally, the doctor leaves and that leaves me, Alexander still unconscious and clinging to my hand, Angelica, Eliza, and Philip. 

“Well, what is this? What… What is…” Philip finally speaks up again in the absence of the doctor. 

“I knew he loved you John, suspected more than as a brother, but I never thought that was something you returned in equal measure,” Eliza says quietly, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine, and my eyes fall shut, in shame of the hurt I have caused her.

“Eliza, I’m sorry… I just, needed to remain in his life. Whatever affections that either of us have for each other, they have never… We never acted on them. I promised him after meeting him I would be by his side, and in this I never wavered. I was there even when it hurt the most,” I respond quietly, and I feel the weight of Philip’s gaze on me. 

“You were there with him this morning on his fool’s errand, and you brought him back alive to me, for that I am grateful,” Eliza says, her smile genuine, and I ask, “How long Eliza? How long have you known this?”

She takes in a deep breath. “Since our wedding night. You know how he talks in his sleep. Usually French, though sometimes he adds Spanish. He always talks about you the most, John. You met him first, knew him longer than I did, and you’ve loved him best, even more so than me, because I imagine you went to New Jersey this morning ready to give your own life for his.” 

I watch as Angelica goes to Eliza, squeezes Eliza’s shoulder and Eliza looks up at her, “I know how you look at him too, comma after dearest. You sacrificed your heart for my happiness, that’s why you married John isn’t it?”

Angelica nods and looks at me, and as our eyes meet the weight of the shared burden we carry seems to lift. 

“So, you and my father, you have a relationship?” Philip asks, trying to understand, his eyes filling with hurt and a need to defend his mother in all of this as he draws closer to her. 

“Philip,” she calls to him, smiling gently. “Your father didn’t grow up as you did, didn’t have a good family, and he didn’t know love after his mother passed away. I imagine he didn’t know it until he met John. And it was John and Angelica who led him to me. Do not blame your father in finding love when he knew so little about it. Besides, do you forget that I know your secret.”

I watch as heat rushes up his face, even the tips of his ears burning, and he concedes his mother’s point. She then asks something that startles Philip, “So, why did Aaron Burr challenge Alexander to a duel.” 

Philip’s face goes pallid, as he turns a wide, guilty gaze to his father on the bed, as I carefully work to get him to unleash my hand. “Theodosia…”

Angelica and I turn to Philip in surprise, “Burr’s daughter?” I ask. 

There is a groan from the bed, and the hand falls away from mine. I wonder how long he has been awake as he finally winces and opens his eyes. “Care to tell me more about that son?”

“Pa,” Philip says, relief and worry in his voice. 

“I… well,” Philip begins, and then Alexander pats a spot on the bed. “No judgment, Pip. It seems you’ve discovered my biggest secret; I won’t tell you whom you can love. How long?”

“We’ve been writing each other for over a year. Is that why…” Philip asks. 

Alexander pats his son’s hand and says, “No. I don’t think he knows about that yet. This was about politics, my influence in his losses over the years.”

“So, you actually sent him a list of your grievances from over the past near thirty years?” I ask in disbelief. 

“A forty-page missive, that was after revisions. There is one thing I should thank him for though,” Alexander says and grips my hand again. I look at him in confusion, knowing that our wives and his eldest son are watching, rapt with attention. 

“Alex…” I say, unsure of what he is about to say. 

“He introduced me to you,” Alex says, and smiles. “My first love, that led me to my wife, my children, and all of my successes. I suppose now that we all know… I won’t risk our reputations, our legacy, and we’ve made it this long in controlling our urges… Now we have the time to be two old men surrounded by our grandchildren someday.”

He smiles up at me and then cautiously turns to our wives, “Eliza, why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

She smiles softly, “I thought you might tell me one day, when you knew you could trust me.”

“I’m sorry I waited so long,” he responds quietly and I look at Angelica as she approaches me, embraces me and then kisses me, and I smile into the kiss. 

“My dearest, compassionate Angelica, I am still yours. I expect you will remind me of this later.”

“Will you tell Jefferson about my reminding you of this later?” she shoots back teasingly, still holding that one incident against me, and then Alexander sits up, wincing at the pain in his side as he cries out, “Thomas fucking Jefferson knows?”

“After today, I suppose Burr does too,” I respond wryly and then capture my wife’s lips in a kiss as Alexander finally lets go my hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you have enjoyed. Please leave a review to feed the insatiable ego of the muse. Provenance has needs, lol.


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